The mystery of the burning hearts
by kay245
Summary: Post HLV - Sherlock is back from his 4 minutes exile and must find who his behind the video that prompted his return. But in the midst of the chase, will he uncover more than one mystery? Eventual sherlolly but slow burn. John / Mary too. First fanfic and English is not my first language, if you see anything wrong, please let me know.
1. Chapter 1

As John arrived at 221B Baker Street, he heard some shouting from inside. It was the day after Sherlock had almost been exiled and after some reassurance from the detective that nobody was in immediate danger, he and Mary had come back to their home. Of course, the added security provided by Mr. British Government had also helped. And the fact that his wife could make a kill shot at 50 feet probably didn't hurt. The shouting also, as strange as it may seems, contributed to a feeling of some normalcy. He entered the building with the keys he still had from his time living there. As he was starting up the stairs, Mrs Hudson's came out from her flat:

"Oh John, dear. The noise! The neighbours! Please, tell them to be a little less loud." She implored

"Hello Mrs Hudson. You know I'll try. They're fighting with Mycroft? Any idea why?" asked John,

"Oh dear. I try not to pry, you know with the government and everything… It reminds me from my time with my husband. Best when I didn't know, you see…"

"Well… I'll go and see what has them in a pickle, then." Replied John, even if he wondered if one had actually ever seen Mycroft in a pickle. The man had ice in his vein, probably kept to below freezing temperature by his made-to-measure suit. As a matter of fact, the screaming was only produced by one of the Holmes brothers.

"Thank you John."

John came up and stairs and entered Sherlock's flat. There, Mycroft stood, his ever-present umbrella in his hands as he was arguing with his brother, if one could call dismissive answers arguments.

"Mycroft! How do you want me to find your leak if you don't give me the files?!" Sherlock was pacing and gesticulating in the main room, which barest wall was now ornate with different items relating to Moriarty and the video. While dressed, it was evident that the detective had not slept much in the previous night.

"Don't tell me that you didn't save a copy. I assume that there is still something left from your pirate phase." Mycroft dismissively answered his brother.

"I was four!"

"And much more autonomous, it seems. You're slipping Sherlock…"

Sherlock, who'd still been pacing across the room in his agitation, suddenly stopped. His behaviour relaxed and he seemed back to his usual cold demeanour.

"I have a copy."

"I gather you want for me to express absolute admiration for that. I'm the smart one Sherlock, not one of your dim-witted adoring fans." Replied Mycroft as he turned to greet the army doctor. "Oh hello John."

John greeted him silently, reigning in any comment about "dim-witted fans". If there was one person next to whom Sherlock was a cuddly teddy bear, it was his brother. The blogger couldn't fathom how one of the MI6 hitmen hadn't yet put a bullet into the head of the older Holmes brother. Maybe the reason for it was that Mycroft always stayed behind his desk, so appalled he was by leg work. Or perhaps, the possibility of being taken down by maybe-not-so-friendly fire might also enter into account for it. After all, in the field…

"Ah, hello John. Don't take off your coat, we're leaving." Said the younger Holmes, going to the rack and putting on his trademark coat.

"What? Hmm, Ok, let's go." Said John, interrupted in his thoughts about how aware was Mycroft of the very probable possibility of being taken down by his own men in an accident if he ever thought of getting from behind his desk.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock and John left the flat, leaving Mycroft behind them. It didn't seem to bother Sherlock one bit. Sherlock hailed a cab that seemed to just come up as he needed.

"So, we're going out. And Mycroft stays?" asked the blogger as they entered the cab.

"Please John, who cares if Mycroft stays in the flat. It's not like he couldn't come in there at any point when we're not there. He's the British Government after all." Dismissively replied the detective.

"OK, just saying, that's the first time that you let him stay behind you. That's all. Your relationship is getting better, then." Of course, if one saw the two brothers together, no one would doubt for a moment that Mycroft was Sherlock's nemesis as he had once put it. But now, John knew more about their –very – dysfunctional relationship to discern some signs of appeasement. Whether that was a good or bad sign however, remained to be seen.

"John, if you are going to sprout such nonsense, maybe it'd be better that you get back to your wife." Still Holmes didn't try and deny it.

"Anyway, where are we going?" asked John. After all, he wasn't there to play therapist to Sherlock's family dynamics but to solve a case. One that involved a man that had tried twice to kill him nonetheless. Of course, when he'd be back home with Mary, they'll have a fun evening to discuss the humanisation of Sherlock.

"We're going to get the files. Please do keep up."

"What files?"

"The ones on the Moriarty's web. Normally Mycroft should have given me access to them but you know how he likes to make my life more difficult…"rumbled Sherlock. Maybe his ideas about Sherlock / Mycroft relationship getting better was a little off the mark, then, thought John.

"Moriarty's web. So I guess you finally found from where the video was uploaded. But that doesn't answer my question. Where are we going Sherlock?"

"Molly's." The detective was still. It reminded John of when Sherlock confessed that the pathologist knew about him faking his death. As if it was a dirty secret.

"Molly's." the doctor repeated. This was not something he expected, but again, he was mostly blindsided about anything concerning the pathologist.

"Yes".

"Care to elaborate a bit, mate?" John insisted. If not, Mary was going to kill him. This was much more interesting than Sherlock and Mycroft sibling rivalry.

"We're here. Great, she should already be at Bart's." The cab conveniently stopped and Sherlock exited as John found himself paying the fare, again. And not having his question answered, again.

Sherlock was already up the steps in front of the building and John had to hurry up behind him. The detective quickly composed the code to enter and John couldn't help but ask:

"So, you know the entry code of Molly's building?"

"Would have been a little inconvenient not knowing how to get to my bolthole, don't you think?"

"Your bolthole? Molly's?" said John disbelieving. Being with Sherlock was like falling the rabbit's hole. But never before, had he thought that the "curiouser and curiouser" part would apply to Sherlock's relationship with his friends.

"Well, one of them. The bedroom… We agreed I needed the space. But you should know after all." The detective replied as they were both taking up the stairs to the fourth floor, clearly trying to brush aside the enormity of what he was confessing.

"What? I should know? When… Wait, the bedroom? What!" sputtered John, still following and trying to wrap his head around how Sherlock Holmes, self-defined high functioning sociopath could have found himself using the bedroom of a pathologist that a few months ago was engaged to another man as a bolthole.

"Well, the spare bedroom actually. But you… well Mary, but then… or maybe not." Declared the detective as his friend glared at him. Rather than discussing the time when his best friend's wife garnered such an information, he turned and focused on the door of Dr. Hooper. "Now… let's see how much time Molly's lock is going to resist me this time."

Sherlock picked up the lock and pushed open the door. Only for it to be blocked by a security chain. Already there was movement behind the door as hurried steps made their way in the corridor. John palmed his face, just realising that Sherlock seemed to have mixed up the working hours of the petite pathologist. As it was, the face of Molly appeared in the opening of the door:

"Sherlock? What are you doing here?"

"Hello Molly… What are _you_ doing here? Your shift at Bart's has started for almost an hour."

"I took a day off. What are you doing here?" As John was starting to mutter indistinctly behind the detective, Molly seemed to finally notice the army doctor behind his tall friend "Oh… John, hello."

"Open the door Molly, we don't have all day" pushed Sherlock.

Molly hesitated a few seconds, her eyes going from the blond man that seemed extremely ill-at-ease to the manic detective. Finally, it was the noise of one of her neighbours opening her own door that spurned her into action. She finally disengaged the security chain and opened the door fully for the two men to enter. Sherlock pushed past her and quickly noticed that a small gun was cleverly cancelled behind a ruffle of her dressing gown. John entered saying hello to Molly as she closed the door again.

"Molly, you can put the gun down now, don't you think" said Sherlock "Anyway, it would be quite ineffective against any of Moriarty's henchmen, most especially as you showed your face in the opening of the door."

As Sherlock turned and started to go to a room, John turned to check the existence of said gun and had to admit that wasn't a figment of the detective's imagination. All the while, eyes still fixed on the man with the Belstaff, Molly replied:

"If it were Moriarty's henchmen, they would most probably have broken down the door so I wouldn't have to show my face in the opening. I guess I could have just started shouting them from here."

Sherlock frowned and turned:

"You would?"

Evidently, there were undercurrents in this conversation that he didn't grasp, Watson realised. Molly didn't reply and just jutted her chin up. John looked at Sherlock and Molly alternatively. The pathologist with her floral dressing gown covering some shorts and an oversize hello kitty shirt, a messy bun on the top of her head, the gun still clasped in her hand, silently challenged the detective with a glare. The dark haired man pinned her with his eyes but didn't seem to try and deduce her. That was interesting. Sherlock always tried to deduce people but John was guessing that the man didn't want to look too deep in the motivation of the specialist registrar. Maybe there were some things that made the man uncomfortable after all. John felt it was his duty to remind Sherlock that one couldn't just barge in someone's place without any explanation:

"So Sherlock, the files? You might as well tell Molly why we're here?"

Sherlock whipped around and started:

"Yes, the files. Molly, I just need to get an usb drive that I left in your bedroom. It'll only take a minute at most and we'll be out of here."

"Wait, Sherlock. The bedroom… No, you can't… Don't…" sputtered Molly suddenly trying getting ahead of him in the small passage way that led to what John assumed was the bedroom.

"Oh… Molly, I don't care if it's not neat… No need to impress me really… it's not like I were your…" was snickering Sherlock.

John was about to intervene when the door of the bedroom opened.

"…boyfriend." Ended Sherlock somewhat less triumphantly as a man clad in half opened jeans stood in the doorway.

Molly looked positively teething with rage, John was feeling as if the world had pivoted on its axis but it was Sherlock that seemed the most dumbfounded of all. The man that John could only assume was Molly's lover didn't seem so uncomfortable though.

"I thought that at some point it would be just best if I came out." He declared somewhat derisively. "So, hi… I'm Nick."

John shot a look at Molly who was now playing with her shirt and trying to hide a small smile while strangely keeping the gun in her hand, even if it wasn't pointed in anyone's direction. He had to admit that had he been in her place, not only would the gun been pointed at the detective but probably been completely discharged after shooting too. Sherlock clearly taken aback by the sight in front of him, namely a half-naked man coming out from a room after certain carnal activities, didn't make any move. Somehow, even if he couldn't surmise the exact reason for it, Watson felt for him:

"Hmm… Hi, Dr. Watson and this is Sherlock. Sherlock, files?" he inquired.

This seems to take Sherlock back to reality. The detective straightened and said.

"Yes, files. I'll go get them." If everything was back to normal in Sherlock's attitude, his deep voice seemed still somewhat strangled.

He pushed past the blond man that looked clearly amused by the situation and entered the room. Nick smiled and said:

"Anyway, Molly, you think we could get a cup of tea or anything in the main room? It's just... you see… let's make it a little less awkward…"


	3. Chapter 3

Molly added two more cups to the tray she had prepared before Sherlock and John entered - well more specifically tried to break into her flat. She motioned to the table, where John and Nick Case, a long-time friend and, as of the previous night, lover where seated. While the army doctor seemed, the least to say, ill-at-ease, Nick was looking as if the whole situation was the funniest thing in the world. As she sat down and put the tray on the table, her lover decided to start the conversation:

"So, Dr. Watson, what is your specialty?"

"Well… Hmm, trauma surgeon but nowadays, I'm mostly a general practitioner." Replied John, trying to look as if the situation wasn't at all strange. Sitting there, in Molly's apartment, chatting with the man that had clearly spent the night with a friend and all that while his best friend was looking for a flash disk in the bedroom of said friend. To add to the surrealism of the scene, the man in front of him looked straight out of a soap opera, not at all the kind of man he would have imagined dating Molly, who while his friend, would be described by most as mousy.

"As it is, I find that general practice is where you have the most interesting cases." Said Nick "well, that and PMs, it seems" and he glanced at Molly who blushed a little.

John was still trying to reign in his curiosity. So, the man was also a doctor? Nick smiled even wider as he observed the surprise on Watson's face.

"Yes, sorry… Dr. Case as it is. I'm a diagnostician at Borough, a private hospital near Boston."

"We met when I was an exchange student at John Hopkins in my last year. We've been sending each other emails since then." Added Molly, she side glanced at the diagnostician and he draped his arm on the top of her chair.

Then, a loud thud sounded in the bedroom and they all turned their head to try and guess what happened. Sherlock exited the room and marched to the table and frowned:

"John, should I remind you we aren't here for a social call?"

"What is it Sherlock? What do you want me to do? It's not like I know where you put that damn flash disk?" passively-aggressively replied John

But the detective wasn't listening, instead he turned to the pathologist, registering the smile of the man who had his arm draped around her back. His eyes narrowed and against all his best judgement, he did something he had promised himself not to do again. It took him just a few second to deduce him: American, Jogger… no, not anymore, a slight injury to the left leg… trying to compensate with working out at the gym but not the same endorphin hit obviously… Arrogant… Doctor, most probably… Known Molly for a long time… Clear intimacy between the two and… He stopped there, suddenly reminded why he had decided a long time ago that deducing the pathologist's boyfriends was not a good idea. Nevertheless, he was irritated. He took the remaining mug on the tray, gulped down the tea and dismissively told the pathologist:

"Molly, I thought that I said to put the gun away… Or at least, put back on the security. A bullet-injury while serving tea would be a terrible story to tell at the hospital."

Suddenly, four pairs of eyes stared at the small .38 gun on the tray. Molly turned beet-root red and seized quickly the gun from the tray. In less than 15 seconds, she had reengaged the security on the gun as well as ejecting the bullet that was in the canon and removing the bullets case. Then she put the gun at the other end of the table. When she finished, she saw that the three men were looking at her. She blushed again and stuttered:

"M-m-my father t-t-taught me. Sorry."

She looked apologetically at John, who was looking at her as if she was spitting snakes and then at Nick. He smiled and told:

"Don't apologise to me. I'm American. I'm culturally biased towards women handling guns." He winked at her.

She blushed and grinned a timid smile. Sherlock choose that moment to interrupt:

"So Molly, before your brain cells are anymore lust-addled, could you tell me please where is the ridiculous clock you had on your night stand?" said the detective clearly annoyed that the man would find the right words to reassure Molly.

"W-w-what? My clock?"

"Yes, you know the one with the kitten. Speed up, I don't have all day." Said Sherlock. This was annoying, between his blogger, his arms crossed and looking as if he wasn't sure that this was real, a woman that shouldn't be on the rebound so soon after her failed nuptials, not to mention the other one, and finally, an item he had been so sure to leave in the one place that wouldn't be disturbed, everything seemed to prove him he'd been wrong. He hated when he was wrong.

"Well, it's in a case in the spare bedroom… with some stuff that were at Tom's…I didn't…"

"Clearly, Molly, I don't care." interrupted the detective before storming out of the room to go to the spare bedroom.

"Does he always do that?" asked Nick.

"It's in his habit yes." Answered John, somewhat getting back to Earth. "So, Molly, you know… guns."

"Oh, a little, my father was in the army you know… He taught me when I was 14. We used to go to the shooting range sometimes… It was… nice" she said, clearly remembering fond memories. "But… I never used it outside the range you know…" she looked horrified at the mere thought "It's just that with the things happening right now… I thought that… you know." She relented, clearly not wanting to discuss the return of Moriarty in front of her new boyfriend. Something that John could sympathize with.


	4. Chapter 4

There were again some ruffling, in the spare bedroom this time. Sherlock finally emerged from the room and didn't even turned to the people in the main room before making his way to the flat's door.

"Come on John, I have the files. Now, we can finally start the chase."

John quickly stood up, bade his goodbyes and went after the dark haired man. He finally got up to him as he was hailing a cab. They both entered it and sat. John turned to Sherlock:

"Well… That was interesting. Molly is proficient with fire arms as it is…. Molly."

"So it seems, John." Replied absent-mindedly the detective.

"Then tell me, is everyone around me…."

"Please, John, we already had this conversation last year. Why, would it surprise you that the pathologist who helped me fake my death would be any different?"

"Yes, why… Sherlock, we're talking about Molly! Molly, the sweet girl, who had a crush on you and couldn't say two words without stammering." tried John.

"Yes… and who slapped me three times. Things change." Defiantly replied Sherlock.

"You were doing drugs! And if you say it was for a case again, I'm going to punch you" John retorted. But he had to admit that the woman had indeed changed a lot in the last months. "Well anyway, she does seem to have moved on. And for real, he really doesn't look like you" he mused

"No, he doesn't, does he?" softly said the detective.

John whipped to have a look at his friend, but nothing in his demeanour betrayed any emotion. If the detective wasn't looking by the window and actively ignoring him, Watson would have thought that he had imagined the last words. And there were things to discuss, after all, there was still the issue of why Sherlock had been staying in Molly's bedroom – and it was definitely her bedroom. But as he was going to try and broach the subject, he remembered the pathologist and her lover. He glanced at the detective and wondered, did he really want to Sherlock to acknowledge that he might care a little bit more than a friend about a woman that this time really seemed to have moved on?

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHS

_So, right now it seems that Sherlolly is a little doomed but don't worry it will pass. I might be a little sadistic but I think that for Sherlock to come to grips with his feeling for Molly, he has to see her moving on. Moreover, I don't think that it's fair for Molly to always have horrible boyfriends and Sherlock someone like the Woman. So this boyfriend is kind of my version of the Woman for Molly, then (also, for Nick, I've picked up some traits from characters of another series that was inspired by Conan Doyle stories but it's more reference and inspiration that straightforward borrowing). :)_


	5. Chapter 5

_I don't like to stop on angsty chapters, so here is the next. I tried to correct as many typos that I saw but some might remains (I found some in my previous chapters and corrected them, so sorry). I know that right now the mystery is not central to the story but it'll come (I just like to define the relationships between the characters so much that the progress of the mystery elements are slow)._

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHS

"Stop laughing Mary! It's not funny! I'm very lucky that Nick found all that humorous!" Molly Hooper, pathologist at St Bart's and occasional side-kick to the great Sherlock Holmes was currently pacing her main room while on the phone with her very good friend Mary Watson.

While they first started as friends through John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, their friendship had deepened and taken a dimension of its own when a few months ago they had both found themselves "jilted". Well, not really jilted, as Molly was the one to break up her nuptials after confronting her fiancé about his jealous fits and trials to smother her out of her friendships and as Mary was still married with John Watson even if not on speaking terms then. Anyway, at the time, Molly had found herself isolated from her friends who didn't understand the break-up or more aptly had too much theories about the reason for it while Mary was desperate for any news about her husband and visited the morgue with hopes of hearing about him. Alike in their morose state of minds, they had supported each other outside the influence of the detective and his blogger and grown very close since then.

"Dear god! It must have been so priceless! But I know, Sherlock's not good to have around when one is trying to start a relationship" said Mary Watson, getting serious again after her fit of laugh as her petite friend had recounted the events of the morning. "So… Nick? How is he, tell me about it?"

"Well… I told you about him, we've been in the same class at John Hopkins in my exchange year and kept in touch. He was coming to London for the cycle of conferences on diagnostic and we met."

"Yeah, yeah… But that was last week! How did you get to friendly penfriends to being caught by Sherlock in bed like horny teenagers?" giggled Mary

"He did not caught us in bed! And he's not my father! I-I mean, Sherlock is not my father!" replied Molly outraged.

"Come on… get to the good bits… Dear… I hope that John took a video!" said Mary starting laughing again.

"Stop laughing or you'll be going into labour and will not hear the 'good bits' as you put it" fakely admonished the pathologist.

Mary Watson, former assassin, currently pregnant to the eyes and stuck at home pending the arrest of a criminal psychopath, was having a field day of fun with the news. If not for the danger that Moriarty still represented, and no she wasn't as calm as her husband and his detective friend were about it, she would be clearly classifying this day as "most fun". Anyway, it wasn't a consultant criminal that was going to spoil said fun. If knowledge was power, gossip was life after all. As she reasoned thusly, she composed herself as to get to the good bits.

"Ok, ok, I'm settled now, you can go on. I'll not interrupt you again." She said smiling but composed.

"So, well… I guess that nothing would have happened without the video from yesterday. I was upset and then Nick proposed to meet for a drink. At first, I wasn't very much fun… I mean, I know Moriarty's dead. Eck, I've done the autopsy myself. But all this was so…" the pathologist relented a bit.

"Yeah, I know." Mary was sobered just thinking about the previous day.

"Anyway, so there I was all gloomy and Nick as usual saw it and tried to know why. Well… I couldn't really talk about it so we started to bicker until I don't know, the nerves or something like that… Well, one moment we were arguing and the next kissing and going back to my flat. And he spent the night." The last words were said in a lower voice as if Molly Hooper was a little embarrassed by what she was saying.

"Oh, goodie, goodie! How was it? Is he as drop dead gorgeous without clothes as he is with?" Mary reseated herself on her couch to hear this part – the better part - of the story.

"It was great! I felt like I was drunk… I mean… not that I was drunk but more, like the sex was so great it made me drunk… Well, we had drinks and everything but, you know, not that much. But also with adrenaline coursing in my veins… maybe…" Molly was diverging from the course of her story Mary could say.

"Molly, I'm not Sherlock, I don't care about the actual chemistry… Please go back to the smexy stuff."

Molly giggled. The idea that Sherlock would be interested in the actual combination of booze and adrenaline needed to have out of the world sex was so foreign. But in the same time, that what he would do, wouldn't he? Try to compute every factor and then… She shut the idea in her mind. She knew that thinking about Sherlock and sex, even if it was only in her own mind wasn't good for her. And now that she was completely out of her crush, she didn't need to fall all over again. So back at the subject at hand.

"Well, do I have to draw you a picture? I'm sure that I have medical books that can inform you on that." Molly kidded, she heard a "grumpf" coming from the line and went on "If you really want to know, it was like we couldn't have enough of each other… Every time it was over, we slept – I have to tell you, it was very athletic, didn't have that great a work out in months – and went back at it all the bloody night!" Just at the thought, Molly felt exhilarated.

"Oh, I envy you! You've had the best work-out of all and now I'm just too much advanced in my pregnancy to have that wild monkey sex with John again. And you know that before that..." Mary frowned as she said the last words. She didn't want to speak of sad things, she wanted to rejoice about Molly's new boyfriend.

"Oh, Mary… Don't worry, you'll have all the time to have sex with John for the rest of your life. Me, I just have a window of opportunity of two weeks, I have to scrounge up everything in that time!" joked Molly.

"So, as my sex life is presently as dead as your work material, did you please sneaked a little picture of your toy boy at any time when there was no shirt on his body?" asked Mary.

"Mary… I wouldn't do that!"

"Yeah, too much a lady, are you?"

"No… Just wouldn't be fair to John. All those abs! No, with his experience in the army, I would just find myself back at Bart's, just not in my original capacity." Replied Molly.

"You're evil, Molly Hooper! Now, I know why so many sociopaths put up with you. Maybe, they're the one with a type!" replied Mary amused. She liked that side of Molly, a side that not many people knew about her as she was a little socially awkward. But once you really knew the girl and didn't mind the morbid jokes, she was a delight.

"Yeah, speaking of one of those sociopath. Do you know that Sherlock turned my bed up against the wall? I mean… he was just looking for his bloody flash drive, not for a secret chamber!" exclaimed Molly, still a little upset at the sight she and Nick had come to when they went back to the bedroom.

"He uptilted your bed against the wall? Oh my… he really is jealous like a child!" replied Mary. She just had to share this tidbit with her husband. This was going to be so much fun! "What did Nick think about him?"

"Nick is very good sport about all of it actually. Really, the only thing that he said about Sherlock was "Does he always do that?" when Sherlock stormed out of the main room. Now, that I think of it, I guess that he finds Sherlock's reactions fun to analyse – even if there is not much to analyse… Sherlock is just Sherlock. But anyway, it's not like they're going to be in so much contact." Answered Molly brightly.

"And did he tell you what he deduced from Sherlock's behaviour?" asked Mary, a little curious to see what the famous diagnostician thought about the consulting detective.

"He wouldn't tell me! When I explained that Sherlock is just the sort of person that tells everything that goes on in his head and so not to bother to look for a deeper meaning behind his words and actions, the only thing I got from him is 'Everybody lies'." Said Molly somewhat deflated.

Mary smiled to herself. The diagnostician seemed to have the same deduction as her. Years of Sherlock's hurtful comments had made Molly unaware of the undercurrents of their relationship. Well, if she had to be truthful, it made everybody that knew the both of them for a long time unaware of it. But she was not like the rest of them, she knew when Sherlock was fibbing. Even when said fibbing was to himself. As of the diagnostician, she was a little taken aback that he didn't seem to care that much about it. Well, nothing to be done now and a little fun won't hurt Molly and if she saw something she didn't like… let's just say that for now, the long range gun in her closet wasn't hurdled by her belly yet.


	6. Chapter 6

In a plush hotel room in the centre of London, a man was looking at a video tape on his computer. The "Do you miss me" gimmick of the video sounded distorted as it played in a loop. The man started typing on his computer, lines and lines of computer programming characters scrolled down the screen until some beeps started to sound. "Yes I do miss you" answered the man.


	7. Chapter 7

In another room, not so plush, famous detective Sherlock Holmes was also staring at his computer as he was scrolling for information on Moriarty's web. Next to him, settled in his chair, John Watson was enjoying a cup of tea, all the while waiting for the detective to start sprouting some deductions. For the last four hours, nothing had been said as Sherlock was dutifully looking at his desktop. John sighed and shifted in his chair. This was the parts that were the least exciting during the cases: to wait for Sherlock Holmes to include him in his findings. Right now, there were no field trip, no suspect to interrogate, nothing to do but wait for the exasperating man to finish his computer search. John had already texted his wife three times to pass up the time and except for the call when he had quickly described the curious trip to Molly's before being cut so Mary could call the pathologist, his wife had not been a great help in alleviating the boredom of the past few hours. Suddenly, his mobile beeped. A new incoming message from Mary:

**Molly's bed wasn't not in the right place when she came back into her room. What would the great detective deduce about that? :D**

Well, that explained the loud thud that they had heard this morning as Sherlock was searching Molly's room. But indeed, would that be a demonstration of jealousy? John opened his mouth and Sherlock interrupted:

"John, do I have to remind you that we have a case? It's not the time to discuss gossip. And tell Mary to stop reading Anderson's blog, with her hormones-ridden brain, his ludicrous theories are even more damaging to her I.Q. than usual."

John's mobile beeped again and he read:

**And tell Sherlock that I'm pregnant and stuck at home. I'm bored.**

The fact that his wife and his best friend could converse without actually being in contact with each other had been bothering at first. But, as everything, he'd gotten used to it.

"She's bored." He said

"If she's looking for distraction, I'm sure that Mycroft has one or two assassinations he needs performed. Better, Mycroft is just a phone call away." Countered Sherlock still typing away on his computer.

"Sherlock. I hope you're not suggesting that you're going to throw my wife… my _pregnant_ wife under the imperial bus that is your brother?" warned the army doctor.

"Hmm, no. He already has enough hitmen at disposal, I'm not going to give him mine." Grumbled the detective.

"You know that Mary is not the only one that is able to shoot you right?"

"I'm not completely sure you'd be able to avoid the kill shot so precisely… Oh that was a threat, right?"

John didn't answer this time. He opened the papers in front of him and started reading the headlines. He was thinking about his wife and was wondering if he would be stuck at Baker Street the whole day, doing nothing but waiting for Sherlock to find anything useful in his files. He was hungry. Sherlock didn't eat when he worked and couldn't fathom that others would be in another state of mind. More, he was bored. Maybe he should try and have Sherlock kick him out of the flat? He would go home, have a little snack and cuddle to his wife and listen to his daughter kicking. As he finished his reasoning, he dramatically closed the papers.

"By the way, I remember clearly that you said you were using Molly's spare bedroom." Started John. "That" he emphasized the first word "was not Molly's spare bedroom."

Sherlock stilled suddenly. He took a look at John and then demonstratively got up from his chair. He came in front of John and then settled in his own chair.

"What?" asked John suspicious of Sherlock's odd, well odder behaviour.

"Nothing John… Obviously, you feel a little ignored." Sherlock served himself some tea and took a sip. John turned red but didn't deny it. He opened the mouth to go back at the conversation about the pathologist but Sherlock cut in:

"We can stop for today. We'll go back at it tomorrow."

John suddenly felt he was being dismissed. This was unusual. Either the subject of the young woman in the morgue was a sore point or there was something from the case that Sherlock was hiding.

"Consideration? That's new. What's going on Sherlock?"

Sherlock immediately hopped from the chair and animatedly started pacing the room:

"Nothing John! There is nothing on those bloody files! All Moriarty's web is there, all those brutish thugs that I've spent two excruciatingly boring years destroying…."

"Never thought before that one could refer to two years of being regularly beaten to a pulp as such. Excruciating… yes but boring…" muttered John

Sherlock didn't notice. He wasn't even listening as caught on as he was in his own frustration.

"… Nothing more than an oversized gang. Such a disappointment! And now, we have that beautiful clever video teasing us and no, still NO SIGN of someone above blunt illiteracy!" kept on the detective. "I'm missing something! What am I missing John?" he dramatically turned to the blogger and pinned him with a look.

"You're sure there is nothing in the files? Did you maybe consider… asking Mycroft if he has some other relevant information that could help?" John winced as he uttered the name of the older Holmes brother. Sherlock shot him a dirty look. John looked apologetically at his best friend but didn't infirm what he just said. Sherlock finally relented and shrugged:

"Fine. I'll call brother dear." He sneered "Just thinking about his gloating… I hope there are still some thumbs in the fridge, it'll help me stomach the idea of his 'I'm the smart one Sherlock!'"

As Sherlock went to the kitchen to check in the availability of said extremities, John stomach growled. Sherlock turned and just spat:

"Okay, go home to your wife!"

As he was indeed being dismissed, John got up from his seat, put on his coat and left Baker Street.


	8. Chapter 8

In his office deep in the labyrinth of one of the British Government buildings, Mycroft was currently facing a crisis that he hadn't anticipated. As he spoke to several people on the phone, he turned to his P.A. and said:

"We'll have to shut down all the farms and cut down all communications until the system is restored." He then turned back his attention to his phone and asked "Do we have an estimate of the damage? How much files has he been able to get into?" If anyone but Anthea had been there, this person would have assumed that the answer was not that high. However, the assistant knew enough of her boss not to be mistaken by the quiet demeanour and to focus on the little straining at the corner of his eyes. She prepared herself for the whiplash of the news when Mycroft personal phone suddenly rang. Mycroft ended his conversation on the secured phone of his office and turned to dismiss Anthea. The P.A. quickly disappeared from sight, quite happy to escape the scathing remarks that her boss was sure to make, if only to her.

"Brother dear, I know it might be difficult for you to understand, but I have other things to do but listen to your whining." Unctuously said Mycroft.

"I need more information. Give me access to your database." Demanded Sherlock.

The tone of voice was emotionless and to the point. Sherlock was interested and committed to the case, no one could mistake this hound-like behaviour. But Mycroft had really other things to do. He didn't have time for this.

"No, won't do, brother. Unless you've forgotten, less than 48 hours ago, you were in departure for a suicide mission. A simple video is not going to erase everything. You're on a leash and it doesn't allow you to meddle with the MI6 database."

"Mycroft, we both know YOU are my leash. Now stop being a prick and give me the information!" shouted Sherlock in the phone.

Mycroft pulled away his phone from his ears at the words of his brother and shook his head. Really like a hound with a trail. Mycroft could almost hear the pacing and gesticulating of the consulting detective.

"Sherlock, language. Mummy would be rather disappointed at this."

On the other end of the line, he could feel a change. Indeed, when Sherlock talked again, his voice was calmer and the focus had changed.

"What's happening Mycroft? Not your habit to stall me like this." He inquired, his voice dripping with curiosity and calculation.

"I'm always stalling you Sherlock" replied Mycroft, trying to needle his brother away from this new path of questioning.

"But only when you don't want me meddling in one of your little plots. This is not. You're hiding something. Something related to the case." Kept on Sherlock.

"Must I understand that the files that you retrieved from Miss Hooper's apartment are not that comprehensive? You're slipping Sherlock. Or are you distracted? You seem awfully intent on collecting goldfishes recently. Not happy that one might get away?" diverted Mycroft.

"Don't see what you're talking about" Mycroft could practically hear Sherlock's tensing. Good the diversion had worked. But it also worried him. It seemed that his brother just couldn't avoid acquiring new pets as he went. How could he prevent the Redbeard episode all over again? But that would be a matter for another time, for once, as his service to the British Government currently required all of his energy.

"As fun as it is to be updated about your last dabbles in sentiment, Sherlock, my time is limited right now. Go back to work and let me know when you find something. Goodbye" With those last words, Mycroft ended the call.

In his apartment, Sherlock looked at the phone and resisted throwing it at the wall. For a few seconds, he pondered the opportunity of going to his gun and shoot at the yellow smiley that still graced the wallpaper. But doing so would only fuel Mycroft's assumptions as well as result in higher rent and Mrs. Hudson's recriminations. He needed to focus on the case. He went to the bathroom and retrieved a new nicotine patch. It would be just at home with the other two that were already patched to his right arm and would calm him down from his frustration with his older brother.

As he settled in the couch and waited for the supplement of nicotine to course through his veins, he retreated to his mind palace. He reviewed once more the information on Moriarty's web. He was missing something, he knew it. Something that was at the heart of the case. Something that was hidden. It had to be hidden or he would have discovered it. But how could anything be that well hidden? Nothing could be. That was it. It wasn't something that was in the files, it was that wasn't. The information had to have been systematically removed. And the leak that had allowed for the location of the government emergency broadcasting aerials couldn't be that smart. The data was too unrelated, having access to both almost impossible. There was no connection between that sort information and what might have been collected by Mycroft's agents. Well, except for the filing of the information in MI6 vaults. Right there! Filing information. Mycroft refusing to give him MI6's files… Access to Emergency broadcasting aerials… Streamlined data on Moriarty's web… All suggesting of hacking.

Sherlock opened his eyes, took his phone and texted his brother:

**Forget about finding the leak. There is none. You've been hacked.**

A few seconds later, the phone rang. Sherlock, already having it in his hands, didn't move from his resting place in the sofa and took the call.

"Hacking doesn't exclude a leak, Sherlock." abruptly said Mycroft.

"At least, you don't deny it." stated Sherlock, bored. "A hacker that can go through not only MI6 firewalls but yours as well, doesn't need a leak."

"My firewalls? What makes you say that my firewalls have been breached?"

"Don't play coy. You sent me to retrieve the files on Moriarty's web. Cloned files from your computer. You certainly have some spyware planted on my mine and compared your files with the copy I made. From your recent unavailability, I understand that there were some missing data from yours, even if most of it had already been compromised before I even got to them – as I couldn't find anything on my new adversary. So, balance of probability, we're facing a hacker, not a leak."

"And this is why you have more utility at home than in some unheard place in Eastern Europe, brother." finally conceded Mycroft.

"Oh encouragement, now? You'd better go and chat up your little assistant. She must have laced your tea with Xanax."

"Certainly. Goodbye, brother dear."


	9. Chapter 9

_Hello all... So this chapter doesn't have Molly in. Sorry but I try to move the plot along (even if it's just not one of my strong point, I always feel that everything is just too obvious). But in the next chapter, we'll have Sherlock and Molly in the same scene promise! Also, don't hesitate to review, I would be glad to know what you think (especially regarding how I manage to keep all in character or not) :)_

When John arrived at Baker Street the following morning, he found Sherlock in his dressing gown, sipping coffee and eating toasts instead of the expected retreat in his mind palace. This was one of the main changes that resulted from being married and living away: missing some parts of the current investigations that the detective was in and having to catch up. He went to the tray and served himself a cup of tea.

"So? Did you find him?"

"Hmmm…. Oh, yes." Replied Sherlock thoughtfully.

"So the man's been caught? We're safe?"

"Nope." Said the detective popping the "p".

John froze, the cup of tea halfway to his mouth and gawked at Sherlock.

"What do you mean no? You found the guy, how can he not be in custody?" said the army doctor, worried. There was a familiar feeling about this situation, this was Sherlock's excitement over the consulting criminal all over again. "Please, tell me that's not Moriarty."

"No, Moriarty's dead. He shot himself in the head. You cannot really come back from that. And even with blank cartridges, the power blast is too much for the brain. Not a clever way too fake a suicide evidently." detailed the detective. "No, that's someone new." he ended with glee.

At the glare that John shot him, Sherlock realised that what he had said was maybe a bit not good. He looked at his friend wonderingly. "What, John?"

"Nothing. So how is he? Is he cute? Does he like dogs? Oh wait, we're not talking about your new boyfriend, no we're talking about a bloody psychopath!"

"Please, John. We both know I don't do boyfriends. And we don't know if he is a psychopath yet." At the look he received when he uttered the last sentence, the detective felt the need to qualify "OK, balance of probability is in your favour. But why so touchy all of a sudden?"

"Sherlock. The last time, no the last two times we were in this situation, someone tried to kill me. Excuse me if I'm a little upset by the idea that you found another criminal mastermind obsessed with you!" shouted John.

"John, the reason I'm your best friend is that I attract criminal masterminds. What changed?" asked the man still sipping his tea. With one look at his friend's furious muttering, he finally remembered:

"Oh, the baby right?"

"Yes, Sherlock! I have a baby on its way!"

"You don't. Mary has one on its way. But you're obviously nesting. Well, that does account for the 5 pounds weight gain." Replied dismissively Sherlock as he gestured to John's stomach.

John was about to say something when he visibly refrained. He muttered indistinctly while pinching the bridge of his nose. Sherlock had always found his friend's open expressions somewhat in contrast with his former career. For an ex-military man, he was totally devoid of the stoic unreadable face that members of the army so usually displayed. Well, John had been an army doctor so there was some element that would explain the lack of poker face. But doctors were also usually not that keen on displaying emotion. Except for Molly of course. But then, she had no need for a carefully schooled professional air to assuage the fears of her patients. They were all dead, after all. What about the lover then? He had seemed quite open in his expression, smiling broadly, relaxed throughout his whole visit. But something didn't sit right with Sherlock… The smile. It reminded him of the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland. Some kind of amused malevolence behind the friendliness…

"So, who is he? What does he want?" asked John.

"I don't know. Not that easy to deduce. Not sure that she'd want me to deduce anyway." Muttered Sherlock still in his thoughts about a man he wasn't sure deserved his pathologist yet.

"I thought you found him? You must have an inkling of what is his endgame, don't you? And who is 'she'?" replied an alarmed John.

Sherlock realised that he and John were talking about two different subjects. Sometime, his retreat in his mind palace could be terribly inconvenient. Who John was talking about? Oh, yes, of course… The hacker. He mustn't have come to that part yet.

"Sorry… I forgot that you weren't there last night. So… The man. He is a hacker that's elementary. One with a lot of experience: he was able to crack MI6's firewalls and also those of my brother – he's so slipping right now… Anyway, to have that sort of experience he must have worked for an intelligence agency. Probably not MI6, though, they would have recognised his style. Maybe CIA or DGSE? Well, it actually doesn't really matter anyway. The man found his way in Moriarty's employ a while back. Probably bored by the tediousness of secret intelligence work. Paranoid to the extreme if one takes into account that nobody even heard of him in Moriarty's web, he probably dealt directly with him. And he must have been brilliant if Moriarty indulged him that way. A solitary, brilliant individual that hid for three years, waiting for the dust to settle after Moriarty's death." Explained Sherlock.

"OK." Said John taking the flow of information in. "So when do we go and crush that… spider?" asked the army doctor.

"Not a spider John. No, he works alone, trusts no one and won't have any little web to pick at. This man is a moray eel. He's going to hide in a recess of the dark web until its prey is quite in the position that he wants and then he'll strike." Reflected Sherlock, taking another gulp of tea.

"So we have to wait and hope that we're not his prey?" summarised John. At the Sherlock's nodding, he continued "So, what do we do in the mean time?"

"What we've always done" smiled the detective "Go and solve some cases!" Sherlock got up and gestured to John to get to his computer.


	10. Chapter 10

_So finally a little fluffier Sherlock &amp; Molly moments (with the beginning being more John / Sherlock). Hope you'll like it. This is very new so I hope there aren't too much mistakes._

_Also, thanks a lot for the reviews. :)_

After two days of insignificant cases and still no news from the hacker, Sherlock started showing the usual signs of manic boredom that John had somewhat forgotten since the three years since the detective's death. It seemed that between his return from the dead, the wedding's preparations and the Magnussen case, Sherlock hadn't had the time to really get bored. Right now however, he was almost foaming at the mouth with idleness.

"Get me a case John!" he ordered.

"Sherlock, we've already been through your blog and mine, there is nothing new from yesterday. Well except the cases you already rejected." Replied the army doctor, massaging his temples, feeling a headache starting to form.

"Maybe you should consider sleeping apart from Mary from now on. Obviously, her nocturnal trips to the loo that startle you awake are considerably diminishing your already limited mental abilities." Pouted Sherlock behind him.

"Mate, check for yourself if you want! There is nothing new! And don't talk about Mary like that!" shot back the blogger as he gestured at Sherlock to come and have a look at the screen of the computer. "You see, only thing that you haven't look at twice is the spam tarot reading." John said as he showed the image of the Hierophant with some asinine comments about by mastering knowledge will one wield power.

Sherlock was sick of it. The only cases remaining were twos, threes at most, not at all deserving of his time. He had texted Lestrade but the man was in holidays, probably trying to get his wife back again, even if she was still having an affair. This time with a female nurse, just to sprinkle a little variety to her long list of infidelities. As he let his annoyance express itself in a very loud moan, the detective went to the freezer to check and see if he had any fingers left. None, of course. What a blighted day! Well, he'll just have to swing by at the morgue and try to charm Molly's out a few fingers and maybe some ears. Or maybe, just stay and have her keep him company while he was doing some new experiment on manufacturing new fingerprints. He turned to John Watson and finally said:

"Fine. There's nothing new! I'll go to Bart's and weasel a few body parts and you can go back to your wife and do whatever you need to do to feel you're actually carrying the child yourself." He said somewhat resigned over the lack of the case but nonetheless calmer.

Dr Watson looks as if he was going to say something but finally shrugged it off as he stood up and made to get his coat. As he was leaving the room, he tossed back:

"OK, Sherlock, see you tomorrow evening. I'm sure something will turn out. Have fun at the morgue." John somewhat slowed down as he thought about it "And you might want to apologise to Molly about her bed." With that last comment, he left.

Sherlock, still in the flat hunched in shoulders dismissively. However, he still went to go check his physical appearance in the mirror of his dressing. He had on the shirt she liked the most so she shouldn't be too crossed, would she? Once again, dismissing the little idea, he went to grab his coat, went down the stairs and hailed a cab.

At the morgue, Molly was going over some paper work that had accumulated during the previous days. The fact was that she was less focused than usual, the threat of the return of Moriarty always on her mind even if she knew that she had some consequent security provided by Mycroft Holmes. Thankfully, Nick was a wonderful companion that diverted her thoughts from this sword hanging over her neck. She smiled as the image of the Doctor came to her mind. OK, he was very different from Sherlock but still, he was gorgeous and she kind of liked his American easy-going attitude. Yet, she had to confess that she always experienced a little thrill at the detective's precise and matter-of-fact deductions… She squashed quickly the comparisons she was making between the two men as that was so silly. It wasn't like she had to choose between them. But if she could have both of them… Stop it, she had to stop that line of thought before it became even sillier. As she was admonishing herself about her wandering mind, someone whispered in her ear:

"Quite a common cause of death. Why are you smiling?" asked Sherlock, his voice rumbling with curiosity as he leaned over the pathologist.

Molly startled at that and unwillingly pushed all her paperwork from the workstation. The detective quickly stepped aside as the petite woman quickly bent to her knees to get the files and also… hide a blush. Sherlock internally smiled at the idea that he was still able to provoke that kind of reaction in his friend. Molly, on the other hand, was cursing her awkwardness and quick-to-colour temperament. She'd never be one of those poised woman that hid their inner thoughts and could reply with grace and nonchalance. Instead, she'd trip, stammer and redden. Crushing her mind-wanderings, she got up, her cases in hand and put them back at her station. She then turned to Sherlock.

"Hi Sherlock, you startled me!" she said

"Indeed. But still, I don't see what was so engrossing in your paperwork? Anything you'd need my help with" replied the detective hopeful.

"Err… No, sorry that was pretty straightforward. But where is John?" asked Molly looking around, expecting for the army doctor to enter the lab and not really wanting to divulge the naughty thoughts that were starting form in her mind before the detective's interruption.

"Sent him back home. No cases. And you should see him. Just fidgeting and worrying like a mother hen. If I didn't know for a fact that Mary was the one pregnant, I would expect him to pop the child at any moment." Told the detective, a little smile on the lips.

Molly giggled at the scene the detective was depicting and had to admit that Sherlock was right. Even Mary was starting to get a little edgy at John's behaviour.

"Yes. Mary might have mentioned this." Acknowledged Molly with a sly glance at Sherlock. "Anyway, what can I do for you? Did you fall short of fingers?"

"Yep. I'd also need an ear or two, those to go. But for the fingers, I'll be at my station. I have a new experiment to do." Finally said the detective.

"OK. I'll get it." Said Molly. She made to go to the morgue but then stopped as a usual thought nagged at her. "By the way Sherlock, anything new on the video-thing?" she asked, some uneasiness creeping in her voice.

Sherlock felt suddenly a little disheartened. Of course Molly would be worried. She was the reason why Moriarty failed. If his brother was the one who had organised everything and made sure that he would get out physically unarmed, it was Molly that kept him sane during the ordeal. She would be a target now. And he had no lead. He frowned and took a step closer to Molly:

"Sorry. We don't have the perpetrator yet. He's a hacker and has covered his trail. Even Mycroft couldn't track him. But please, believe me when I say that you have the best security that one could have. He can't get to you." Softly said Sherlock.

"I know Sherlock. I know. I have no doubt that you'll get him." Said Molly, refraining from touching Sherlock's shoulder. He looked so dejected. She decided to liven up the atmosphere and cheerfully said "Oh, come on, don't look so beaten up, I'll give you an extra big toe."

With a smile and a little wink, she exited the lab to get the body parts. Behind her, Sherlock smiled a genuine and warm grin at the effort made by the pathologist to cheer him up.


	11. Chapter 11

_Ok, so right now I'm fighting a huge writer's block. I know where I want the story to go but I'm not totally satisfied by what I'm writing. But I think I have to write through it or I'll just stop altogether. So, another chapter with Sherlock and Molly working together in the lab. I'm keeping with the camaraderie of last chapter with some underplayed tension but not much (but some little payback from Sherlock's treatment of Molly during SIB). Hope you enjoy it nonetheless._

Molly and Sherlock kept peacefully working next to one another. Sherlock on his experiment and Molly on her paperwork and one or two little breaks when the detective asked for her advice. Sherlock was at ease, doing what he liked, even if he had to admit that it would be even better if there was a corpse to examine. Unfortunately, the pathologist was quite decided on clearing up the files that waited for review and annotations, so no trip to the morgue. Sometimes, Sherlock surprised himself as he stole some looks at Molly, trying to decipher something about her. He couldn't grasp it and it somewhat kept niggling at the back of his mind. It wasn't unpleasant like the feeling of missing something about a case but it was still there, like a casual touch at the back of his mind.

However, sometime around noon, Molly started to receive several messages as her mobile beeped at short intervals. At first, Sherlock dismissed the calls, but as the length of time between each beep was getting shorter, he couldn't help but remark:

"Molly Hooper, what is it that your phone is so insistent about?" he brusquely asked as another text alert sounded.

Molly wrinkled her nose thoughtfully as she checked her screen. Completely oblivious of the detective's question, the petite woman absent-mindedly replied:

"Sorry Sherlock, I have to take that."

The dark haired man looked at the petite woman bewilderingly. Never before had Molly been so unaware of him. She didn't even notice that he might have been a little rude. He was still looking at her as she turned her back to him and called whoever was stalking her by phone.

"Yeah, sorry… a lot of paperwork... Of course… Tell me the symptoms again" was saying Molly to the man on the phone.

Sherlock couldn't help but stop altogether what he was doing and listen intently at the conversation. Surely it held no interest for him whatsoever but nonetheless, he sat back on his stool, staring as Molly was fully focused on words he didn't hear.

"OK, do you think it could be related to alcoholism? I know that she doesn't display the most usual symptom but it could be that. And wouldn't that be relevant with her history?"

As he was observing the woman in front of him, Sherlock realised that Molly wasn't just a great pathologist who had the good grace of humouring him. She also was a brilliant doctor. It was the first time that he saw her exercising her job in a way that was not related to crime and he couldn't help but be fascinated. As much as John's saving of a guardsman, observing the woman as she paced the lab, her mind working out symptoms and diagnostics was simply humbling. She actually didn't depend on his skills, she just had her owns on which to rely. His chest constricted and warmth spread.

Molly, unaware of Sherlock's attention to her, was rubbing the side of her head as she tried to diagnose the symptoms that Nick had told her. He was rejecting her theories one after the other but she was stubborn enough to keep trying, despite his laconic let downs. At some point, instead of another dismissal, Nick went silent. She focused on that and tried to develop the theory. But the only thing she heard on the other line was a quick "Not bad" and a click followed by the disconnection signal. Molly looked at her phone, shocked. He had just hung up on her.

At the sight of the pathologist glaring daggers and astonishment at her mobile, Sherlock got up and sneaked next to her. Recently, he had gotten used to invading her personal space for no particular reason. Once again, he leaned into her and asked: "Problem?"

Molly jumped and quickly turned to the detective. She couldn't help but notice how deep he was into her personal space. Again. It was new and she had thought the first few times that he wasn't even aware of doing it. Now, she wasn't so sure. But she couldn't see why we would do that. But it was still quite discomfiting.

"You know, I'm going to put a bell on you, so you can't sneak up behind my back anymore" she diverted, smiling, his close presence to her doing something strange to her equilibrium.

As for his question, she wasn't going to answer him. Somewhat, the idea of discussing Nick with him felt awkward. Much more awkward actually than when she had been engaged to Tom. She didn't know what but something had changed that made her fear… something. Maybe Mary's words or Nick's quick narrowing of the eyes when she mentioned Sherlock. Well, something made her just uneasy about it.

Sherlock took a step back. Evidently Molly was not feeling comfortable with him so close. He felt a pang in his chest about it. As for the way she had avoided his question, he felt… irritated. This was not the Molly he'd come accustomed to. The one who would answer him when he asked a question. Only one reason for that change. And from that, he could deduce that she'd been on the phone with the _lover_. The sneer when he used the noun to designate the doctor was clear to him. It should appal him that he'd display so much inane sentiment about it but after a few trials at neutralising his thoughts about the man, he had just dropped it. After all, neither John nor Mycroft were in his mind palace to point out his uncharacteristic disdain of Molly's _lover_.

As Molly watched Sherlock distance himself and seemingly enter his mind palace with a frown, she sighed at her attempt at humour. That went well. Not at all. But she didn't want to spoil further the mood and decided to divert once more Sherlock's ideas. If he could hear her.

"So, how when the attempt to recreate different finger prints? Did you manage something that looks real enough?" she cheerfully asked.

"Oh." Sherlock suddenly came back to the present moment and looked at the pathologist. She hadn't sounded so joyous on the phone. She liked his experiment! Sherlock relaxed at the thought and gestured to her to come and see what he achieved: "Come and see. I think that with this new compound, I'm very close to match the effect that skin leaves on glass. Of course, it's still a little imperfect on metal but maybe you have some suggestions…"


	12. Chapter 12

_So back to the plot. The new case is in link with the title of the story, so finally I come to it. So time for murder - well, almost. I just needed a last little interlude between the characters before delving in the case. Hope you enjoy. :)_

The following day, Sherlock received a text from Lestrade.

**Murder. Weird. Woman with the chest opened and ash on her. **

A few second later, the DI sent the address and Sherlock made his way to take a cab all the while texting John.

**New Cadaver. Maybe serial. Come.**

A quick answer appeared on Sherlock's screen as he exited 221B Baker Street.

**Not possible. With Mary. Maybe later.**

Sherlock frowned at that. He was going to answer the text and demand John's presence but hesitated slightly. Maybe, he should let the army doctor stay with his wife. He was still hesitating when another text appeared on his screen. Mary.

**Force him to go with you or I'll put a bullet in HIM. Not sure that I'll miss either.**

Sherlock grinned at that. So Mary Watson was officially fed up with all the worrying and fussing of her husband. Molly had been right. Well, not surprising as the two young women were like peas in a pod since his shooting. Their friendship had cemented during the awkward phase when John and Mary weren't on speaking terms. Sherlock sometime wondered if they even had their own little adventures. If that was the case, he was pretty sure neither he nor John's would ever be privy to them. Anyway, time for an answer.

**It's a new case. Gruesome. Maybe a SERIAL KILLER. **

No answer. Sherlock gave the address to the taxi and decided to resort to unfair play.

**I'll ask Mary. She's bored, isn't she?**

With that, he knew that he would find his blogger at the crime scene. A disgruntled army doctor, he was sure but John would perk up at the case, Sherlock was certain. Of course, a few seconds later, as he was sitting in the taxi, he received a new text.

**OK, I'll be there. Don't call Mary!**


	13. Chapter 13

_So, here is the murder. I hope the deductions are not too obvious (again not my forte)._

As they arrived on the crime scene, Sherlock and John were the focus of journalists, as usual. If those hungry vultures could be called journalists. The detective and his blogger were again harassed with questions about the murder, Moriarty's return and the possible link between the events, all the while flashes sizzling and popping around them. The detective almost regretted not having the stupid hat with him. But it had been stolen by Janine so she could take those tedious pictures for the tabloids. Of course, he hadn't asked her the hat back.

As they were passing under the yellow band signalling the scope of the crime scene, Sherlock saw from the corner of his eyes Donovan make a face. Even if she wasn't as aggressive as she'd been before the fall, she was still not totally sold on him. He didn't really care but strangely, since his return he hadn't felt the need to antagonize her further. Lestrade was waiting for them in the recess of the dark alley they were in. The air was fetid, smelling of urine and decomposition. However, when they came up to the corpse, the smell was replaced by a strong odour of burnt flesh with some remnant of detergent.

The body was the one of a young woman, blonde with graceful features that had just started to harden and wither from abuse in both drug and sexual forms. The body was also marked with bruises, toes and fingers showing the damages of leaving on the street. So a hooker, addict of course. She probably started using before she went into selling her own body, the oldest scars on her arms not as ragged as if she'd needed to dull out what was being done to her body. Her petite body was otherwise clean, very clean. Too clean, he could smell as he leaned to pick up any olfactory clue. Her body had been rinsed with bleach in forensic countermeasure. So whoever had done it was not stupid. Not your average junkie or angry jon. No this was premeditated.

Now, Sherlock had a look at what would ensnare all the eyes of the people there. Under carefully crossed hands, the victim's chest had been totally opened, from the Y incision to the cracking of the ribs, all of to extract something from the chest. Something that had been burned to the point of being ashes until being placed back into the chest. Her heart.

Sherlock turned to John and saw the shadows on his faces. This was not their average case. It seemed somewhat totally out of place in a street of London. This was too dramatic, too big for twentieth century England. It had its place in a horror novel full of psychopathic serial killers and FBI agents. Or a Ripper. Already, the maps of London started unfurling in his head so he could calculate the distance between the alley and the infamous neighbourhood. John crept up and knelt by the victim next to Sherlock and asked:

"Wow. That does look like a serial killer, doesn't it?"

Behind them, Lestrade made a face but waited attentively for Sherlock's analysis. Sherlock mind's was straining, trying to see beyond the obvious. The scene was methodical, all aspects cautiously worked out as to avoid leaving any trace. But something didn't feel right with him, there was something that was just out of the ordinary with that crime scene. The body. He needed to know more about the body. Sherlock got up and turned to Lestrade:

"The killer is methodical and careful. This is clearly a secondary location." Said Sherlock.

"What? How do you know there has been another place? This place reeks of burnt flesh!" replied the DI gesturing to the charred flesh.

"Once again, Gavin, too caught up in the drama, you fail to observe the obvious." Said Sherlock.

"Oh go on, then. Do your show." Said Lestrade, too focused on having a clear answer to correct Sherlock on his name. And also too jaded about it to try yet again.

Sherlock turned to John and gestured to him to have a look:

"So John, what do you see?"

"Well, the victims heart has been burned, that's for sure. Don't see any other organ missing, though. So, yes the heart only. The fire must have been intense to achieve that degree of charring. It would have attracted bystanders?" attempted John, trying to figure out what was Sherlock seeing.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at that.

"No, John. The heart was obviously burned here. Otherwise, the only explanation for the smell is that someone had a little barbecue down here. And whatever some think, most delinquents wouldn't be so hardened as to have a cosy little picnic above such a sight, and none so stupid." Sherlock sighed. "No. The burning ritual did happen here but before that what had to do the murderer?"

John looked at the victim's torso and immediately understood:

"He opened her chest. There should be at least some blood." Whispered the army doctor.

Sherlock nodded as his friend finally caught up. He looked at Lestrade that seemed not totally convinced:

"What if he had killed her before? Wouldn't be so much blood effusion, would it? Could be easier to clean?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes once again.

"Look at her, officer. No obvious sign of strangulation nor furious cuts nor terrible blow to the head. Nothing pertaining to passion. And even me who disdain sentiment, am not totally unaware of the symbolism of the heart. So there needs to be something very brutal in her death. But anyway, Molly can confirm that once we have the body in the morgue." Replied Sherlock.

With that, he put his collar up and made his way back to the street, John quickly following him until the caught a taxi to go to the St Bart's.


	14. Chapter 14

_Sorry, sorry it's been a long time since my last update. I just hit a major writer's block and couldn't fond the right way to go on with the story (which is made since I already know where I want to take it but it was difficult to see what the two next chapters would be about). Anyway, here is the next chapter. Hope you'll like it._

When Sherlock arrived at the morgue, Molly was nowhere to be seen. He had gone looking at the lab and then at the morgue but she wasn't there. He was surprised and not happy. Yes, the body of the young prostitute wasn't there yet. However, he would have liked the opportunity to check on a few experiments and maybe have her make him coffee - hers was much better than the one of the canteen. So, here he was with John, pacing in front of the changing room, waiting for the pathologist. John, used to Sherlock's theatrics in the middle of a case wasn't put off and used the time to answer Mary's text about the choice of baby phones and review some of his notes about the case. A few minutes later, they heard some steps making their way to them, accompanied by two voices discussing things that elicited some laughter at one time or another.

Sherlock turned and saw Molly coming to the lab with her lover in toe. They were talking to one another and sharing smiles as they arrived in front of them. Sherlock, already irritated, felt his mood darken even more. Molly, spotting him, hurried her pace:

"Sherlock, John! You're already here? The body isn't there yet." She started, a little nervous. Then she quickly composed herself, remembering she was in presence of friends "Oh and hello." She finished brightly.

"The body should arrive in less than 10 minutes, so maybe we should cut to the chase and go straight to the morgue." Replied Sherlock

"Just a minute, I'm leaving my bag and grabbing my coat and we can go. Sorry if I'm late, we were with Nick out on lunch." Said Molly brightly.

John seeing the look in Sherlock's eyes and knowing that he wasn't a man that allowed for small talk during a case – which meant that a scathing remark would be uttered soon, turned to Molly and her doctor and interrupted:

"Hi, Dr Case. Glad meeting you again. So, you two had lunch? Did you go to the French café two streets down?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes but seemed focused on the progress Molly was making in getting ready to go to the morgue. He did shoot one or two irritated looks at his friend but didn't comment otherwise.

"Yes, we did. It was very good. Thanks again to your wife for recommending it. It was the perfect place to get Molly for lunch. I can't let her forget about her lunch break and survive on crisps, can I?" replied the diagnostician good-humorously, his broad smile on the face, seemingly not paying attention to the detective on his side.

Nonetheless, at the mention of crisps, Sherlock jerked a little. He turned quickly to glance at the G.P. and make sense of the last sentence, but the man just smiled, even if for just a second, it seemed a little colder. However, except for that fleeting instant, nothing in his demeanour betrayed any ill-humour. Sherlock wasn't convinced that the remark had been stated quite innocently but there was a case to solve and he didn't have time to think on it.

John and Molly said goodbye to Nick and followed Sherlock has he made his way to the morgue. Just as they arrived, two paramedics came with the body bag and exposed the corpse on the slab. A few minutes later, Lestrade made his own entrance.

Molly immediately went into medical examiner mode. She was entirely focused on what she was doing, following the protocol that had been etched on her mind since the beginning of her post-mortems. She even clapped quickly Sherlock's hand away when he made to try and touch a part of the body. This was her domain and she ruled over it. Of course, she would let him do what he needed afterwards, but the first half-hour was hers – and then, the three to four hours after, if she had to be truthful. She would compile every little nugget of information in her head, following the same routine that would allow her instinct to find the omitted clue. She was good at it. She knew it. Even Sherlock knew it.

"Female – 18 to 25 – natural blonde – 5'3. Bruises on arms, legs, thighs. I'll check the back later, but probably there too. Bruises caused sometime before death, not the same age though and they were mending. No defensive wounds - no sign of blunt force trauma, no strangulation marks except for old traces. OK, so now back to the main piece. Opened torso, incision in Y, cracking of the ribs. Major blood loss. Possible cause of death. Heart removed - and burned to ashes? I'll test it later to see if I can find what might have been the accelerant. No other organ missing. Apparent skill for the procedure but nowhere close to medical or professional. Some signs of hesitation in the cuts and inconsistent force when using the blade – a scalpel perhaps or very sharp razor…" observed Molly as the three men around her kept silent and let her work.

Once she finished her first appraisal of the body, she turned to the three men that waited for her.

"OK, that was my first observations of the body. Not much, I know, but when I go into the proper autopsy, I'll know more. Any questions until then?" she asked, completely confident in her skills.

"See, I told you that she died when they cut her open." Asserted Sherlock. "Molly, please send me the tox report as soon as you can. Want to know what kept her passive during her execution. Might be key." Demanded then Sherlock.

Molly rolled her eyes. As if she needed that fact pointed to her. What a show-off. But she refrained to say anything. Instead she asked:

"Anything else you want to share?"

"Not yet, I'd rather have you keep your mind open. But, if I could get a sample of the ashes, I'd like that." Said Sherlock, his eyes distant as when he was already compiling facts in his mind palace.

"No problem. I'll get you some."

At this, Sherlock, John and Lestrade started toward the door of the morgue, leaving the pathologist to her autopsy. Sherlock remained silent, as was John. Greg, a little put out at the lack of information, felt necessary to remark:

"Sherlock, I don't have you on my investigations for fun, you know? So, if you could have anything that could start jump the investigation, that'll be the moment."

Sherlock stopped, crunched his eyes as in effort and after a few seconds started:

"Well, you already have everything that Molly told, if you took time to work it. You're really getting lazy with time. Anyway… We can assume that the killer has a firm grip on his control. Everything has been carefully planned, from the victim – a junkie prostitute, easy prey – to the disposal site, everything was bleached and cleaned to erase any sign of the murderer presence. He spent some time rehearsing this. There might be previous attempts…. You should look into that."

Lestrade nodded at that, all the time making some notes on his pad and thanked Sherlock before leaving. John, however, saw there was something that bothered Sherlock and waited for him to tell more. Normally, Sherlock despised serial killers. The cases were lurid, yes but no real mystery nor cleverness in the detective's opinion.

"Come on, John, we have to look for the primary location."

"What? But, don't you want to wait for feedback on the first attempts?"

"Oh, no. That was to distract Lestrade. Don't want to have him in my legs as I take it in the first time."

"What do you mean?"

"The man is obviously a beginner. Remember what Molly said. _Hesitation_ _marks_. And he chose a high risk victim. It was his first." Simply stated Sherlock.

"But you said that he prepared and planned everything. Doesn't it indicate some experience?"

"Yes, I know. _That_'s the conundrum. Ahhh, this case is good. At first, I thought it would be a 4 or 5, but it is a 7 maybe an 8." With those words, Sherlock's face relaxed and his eyes started gleaming. "John…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, the game is on." Cut the blogger but he couldn't hide the little smile at the corner of his mouth.


	15. Chapter 15

_I know that until now I mostly avoided Molly POV in the story. It's not that I don't like her POV, it's just that she kind of tries to avoid thinking too much about everything that is happening (even if she is quite aware that she's doing it). Anyway, from now on, we'll see more of her POV. Not as much as Sherlock's (she's much more aware of herself and her feelings so doesn't need to mull over it as much as the detective), but we'll see a little more of what is going on in her mind. I also have to warn you, that the way I see Molly is not a perfect angel of kindness and understanding. To me she's normal and she can get grumpy and angry for no particularly good reason. So you're warned._

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When Molly finished for autopsy, it was 6 p.m. and she felt somewhat irritated. She didn't know why. She loved her job. Really. She loved the method and protocols she followed in PMs and the story that she could collect from tiny little details in the bodies of the victims. She should be relaxed and content by now. The autopsy had been interesting, mostly by the lack of little clues she had been able to discover. A little smile played on her lips when she thought about Sherlock's probable joy at that. He loved a good puzzle. At that precise moment, her phone buzzed for what seemed the hundredth time in the day, probably the same detective requesting answers or demanding other tests to be performed. She sighed and again her humour soured. She still had to do the tox report because, of course, if she asked anyone else to do it, the consulting detective would have her redo the tests. And then, all the other little tests Sherlock needed. So, she might as well cancel her night with Nick. And then, it hit her. Why she was so irritated. She was pissed at Sherlock. Pissed at how he'd been outraged at the idea that she might have taken a break at noon to have a lunch date with her… boyfriend, lover, whatever this time-limited arrangement was. Pissed that he demanded and demanded without any please nor thank you. And that she was supposed to oblige. Normally, she didn't mind. Sometimes it was even a pleasure. But right now it felt contriving. She slowly shook her head and tried taking deep cleansing breaths. Sherlock was her friend. More so, she was his friend. She shouldn't be mad at him for just being himself.

It didn't work. She was mad. Then, her phone beeped again. She looked at the screen and saw a new message from Nick. He was asking if they could meet up later, he had a call with his team. Another text: a proposition for proper compensation, her own little pound of flesh, with a wink - Nick did love sexual innuendos that weren't that much innuendos. It should have been alright. It should have been great news. She would have had the time to do the tests for Sherlock and then, go and dine with her… whatever he was. But no, this infuriated her even more. Right now, she felt stuck between the two of them. One detective that required all of her time but refused to emotionally engage and a doctor that, well, did engage sexually and somewhat emotionally but was quite alright with her time being quite all taken up on other things. And finally, she felt as something snapped.

She looked at the corpse before her. A corpse she just finished the PM's of. She took a step back, retrieved the green flimsy coat that shielded her clothes during the autopsy, bundled it with the disposal gloves, aimed at the basket at the corner and threw the lot at the basket in the corner of the room. Her decision was taken. She would delegate the tox report and other tests to the people who actually were on shift and she'd go home. She contemplated asking Nick to come but the fact was, she wasn't so eager to see him either. Tonight, she just wanted to be alone. With her cat and with her grumpiness. So, finally looking at her phone. She sent two messages back. Two messages saying that she wasn't available tonight.

When the diagnostician received the text, he was in a middle of a conversation on his phone, comfortably seated in his plush hotel room. He ended the call, not bothering to deny the last taunting words he'd heard "The current lack of mind games is refreshing. Who'd have known that the England air would be so mellowing? Unless it's not only the air…" However, his usual smirk faded as he frowned over the text he'd received. She wasn't available any longer. But why? He had made so much progress with her. And then, the answer hit him. Of course, the freaking detective. The one who tried so hard at not being aware of her. The same and only detective that would fuck up his whole carefully crafted plan if he didn't do something about it. Irritation gnawed at him and he grounded his teeth together. When his phone rang back, he took the call, not bothering to hide the dissatisfaction in his voice. "Did I miss something or did the mood completely flip?" said the person on the phone. He answered truthfully and sarcastically "Yeah, my booty call cancelled on me. Fortunately, there is still your ass to burn."

When Sherlock received the text, he was still back in the alley were the body was found, John muttering behind him about cold and going back to his wife. Sherlock just tuned him out as he was on the ground trying to get something that would give him some clues about where the body had been transported from. Unfortunately, the bleach and fire that polluted the scents of the scene and the setting sun prevented him to find any visual traces that shouldn't belong there. He was about calling it quits and return to the morgue to get his tox report and run additional tests with Molly's help when his phone beeped. Finally. She must have found something interesting. That was great. He turned to John gleefully, taking out his phone but finally settled in front of the army doctor with a deep frown on his face.

"What?" snapped John, trying to hold off the cold and hoping that the stench of the back alley wouldn't clung to him once he went back home.

"It's not possible." The tone of the detective was dismayed and at that John snapped back at attention, trying to decipher what the change in attitude of the detective meant.

"What is it?" he repeated more softly this time.

"She went back home." Replied Sherlock.

"Who went back home?" asked John, not following.

"Molly. She texted me that Robinson would do the tox report and that if it needed to be redone, that would wait until morning." Said Sherlock, clearly puzzled. "She said she was unavailable this evening. But what about work?" he sincerely mused aloud.

At that, John couldn't help but bit back a laugh. Sherlock seemed totally taken aback that Molly Hopper had a life beside him. This was so Sherlock that John couldn't help his mirth.

"Well. You might be married to your work, but she isn't." Said John, hiding a smirk.

Sherlock froze slightly and said "Don't be stupid John. She has a boyfriend. Of course she's not married to her work."

The scorn in the detective's voice was so thick that John found himself puzzled at what it was directed to: him, Molly or the boyfriends.

"Well. She isn't married to your work either, Sherlock. So please leave the girl alone and let's just get back to Baker Street." He reasonably stated, trying to get his friend to get out of the alley.

"But she always helped with my tests! She knows I cannot trust the other pathologists! They're not as thorough as her!" Sherlock was now clearly in pouting mode and John didn't relish the task to get him back to the flat. However, after a few minutes of Sherlock pouting and pacing, the blogger finally managed to get to the main street and hail a cab in which him and his friend engulfed.

"You don't understand, John! The tests need to be done by her! She always did them before! Why should that change? I have a process, John. It's integral to my work and it relies on Molly. She never failed to help me before…"

"Well, if she was such an important part of your work, you might have considered marrying her as well. God knows, she is a saint to put up with all of this." Finally snapped John, interrupting Sherlock's tirade.

At that, Sherlock shot him a look that could kill before shutting up and starting to sulk. And then, finally, there was blissed silence.

"You don't understand, John! The tests need to be done by her! She always did them before! Why should that change? I have a process, John. It's integral to my work and it relies on Molly. She never failed to help me before…"

"Well, if she was such an important part of your work, you might have considered marrying her as well. God knows, she is a saint to put up with all of this." Finally snapped John, interrupting Sherlock's tirade.

At that, Sherlock shot him a look that could kill before shutting up and starting to sulk. And then, finally, there was blessed silence.


	16. Chapter 16

_So, here is another chapter. I know I should move along the plot but right now, I just have these sorts of chapters that are more about characters interacting with each others - but, soon, I promise, the plot will move long a little more. _

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The previous day's end had been quite disappointing to Sherlock. First, they hadn't been able to determine the first location of the crime. Secondly, Molly had deserted him and gone back to undoubtedly have "lots of sex" with the lover. Third, as he had anticipated, the tox report would need to be redone, Robinson being quite the lousy replacement for his pathologist. And finally, there was the dream. A strange dream about marriage to one's work, engagement rings and lurid half fantasies. He wasn't so worried about the sexual component of the dream – after all, his subconscious did have to unload frustration in some way or another. No, what worried him was that he remembered it. Normally, he deleted everything related to his sleeping musings. Why would that get stuck in his mind? And why all those disturbing feelings lately? To say he didn't appreciate the distraction was quite the euphemism. Worst, never before had the distraction been so great. Yes, there had been some moments with the Woman and he had to admit that he did feel some shame for having danced to her little tune like a puppet for a while. Even Janine, at the wedding, had elicited some little sparks. But in both cases, the women had been somewhat part of the cases, so there was some element of the thrill of the chase that had clung to them. Now, what he couldn't understand was why he had those kind of thoughts again. It's not like there were any women… things involved in the case. Well, besides the victims but that really wasn't the point.

As Sherlock was pacing across the room, lost in his thoughts and frankly, quite reluctant at examining what might be the reason of his churlish mood, Mrs. Hudson came in with a trash of tea. She graciously avoided being hit over by Sherlock – all those years of exotic dancing and evading lecherous men did in fact hone quite convenient reflexes – and place the tea pot on the table. Sherlock finally stopped his pacing and came back to get his cup of tea. Once the mug in his hand, he dramatically seated himself in his chair, still silent until Mrs. Hudson decided to talk:

"Dear, are you alright?" she asked, half-expecting Sherlock to ignore her and so, was startled when he answered.

"Definitely not. My mind is in overdrive and I can't stop it." He replied sulking.

"Don't worry dear, I'm sure that you'll solve the case." She replied comfortingly.

At that Sherlock got up, winded into a brusque fit of bad mood. He went back at pacing but this time, he kept talking.

"Oh, how I wish it was about the case! But no, my mind is rotting. Ever since I came back, there has been this stream of _feelings_. I didn't have that before! Why do have I that now? Oh, just to go back to those simpler days when everything was neat, clear of all sentiment. But, of course, it had to change. Everything changed! And John, of course, he couldn't keep his mouth shut. No, he had to go and make some little witty statement about sainthood and marriage and whatever things that goes in his mind. Yes, just make it harder, John!" kept rambling Sherlock.

At that Mrs. Hudson felt her heart constrict. Finally it had dawned on Sherlock that John did move on. Poor Sherlock. She knew that one day or another Sherlock would finally understand that it would never be like before. Well, she had thought that it would catch up with him much sooner, all with the wedding and baby thing. But, people are fools when they're in love. She shook her head silently. Her heart was breaking for Sherlock but she had to admit that it might be better that way. After all, John had been quite conflicted about his homosexuality and he did seem to be genuinely in love with his wife – even if there had been some bumps here and there. So that's why, as Sherlock kept rambling about distractions and change, Mrs. Hudson finally decided to interrupt him and propose:

"Sherlock, I know it's hard to have your heart broken. But, you know that John is happy now, don't you?"

This cut Sherlock in his stride. He turned and looked at Mrs. Hudson, quite befuddled.

"What about John?" he asked

Poor thing, he really didn't want to admit it, did he? Now, she had to try and rise Sherlock's mood. But how to do that? While she loved the man like a son, his interests were really ghastly and she wasn't sure that she wanted her walls to take another round of shooting. But who could she call? Well, not John. Nor Mary. Oh, there was this charming girl that was so good at calming Sherlock. The one who worked at the morgue. Yes, delicious, cute Molly. Mrs. Hudson had to say that sometimes she had wondered if Sherlock wouldn't have fancied the little thing if there hadn't been John. She remembered that he hadn't looked that pleased at the attention bestowed on her by Lestrade that Christmas a long time ago. But no, it seemed the girl was just a friend. A good one too. And cheery. She would surely know what to make of the detective.

"Well, he's moved on. But you're still his best friend. You know what? Text Molly, I'm sure she will be able to cheer you up! She is such a darling." she told brightly.

At that, Sherlock's mood darkened further. He had a hurt look about him that Mrs. Hudson couldn't quite understand. But before she could add anything else, Sherlock stormed out of the room to his bedroom. Yet, before the door slammed shut, she distinctly heard Sherlock mutter:

"Oh for Love's sake, not you too!"

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_By the way, if you want to know what kind of dream Sherlock had, you can check the story I wrote about it: Dream on. At first, I wanted to include it in this story but felt that it would really get into the way of the already slowed pace. So, I decided, to have it beside the main story._


	17. Chapter 17

_Hello all, I currently have a lot of work so I might not be able to update regularly. But anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter. And don't hesitate to review, I always appreciate them. :)_

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Thankfully, the rest of the morning went much better for Sherlock. First, Lestrade had called him to have a look at possible first attempts. As he said to John the day before, the detective knew that there wasn't anything to be found, yet, it did provide him with a distraction from the fidgety mood he'd been on since he'd received Molly's text. So, he sat at Scotland Yard with the detective, reviewing the cases the man had excavated to see if anything matched. Unfortunately for the policeman, Sherlock was easily bored and as Lestrade was reading aloud yet another report, the detective blurted:

"There hasn't been a first attempt."

Greg froze. Did the git said what he thought he'd said?

"What do you mean there wasn't a first attempt?" he asked inquiringly.

"There wasn't. It was the first time for the aggressor." Replied Sherlock. At the look on Lestrade's face he found himself justifying it. "Well, if you had listened to Molly Hooper, you would have find out. It was clearly the work of an amateur that hadn't cut anyone before."

"You bloody git! Do you know how much time we spent in trying to gather all those old cases?"

"Well, from your rumpled clothes, the blood injected eyes of your men as well as the overwhelming scent of badly brewed coffee. And yes, before I forget, Donovan didn't even manage a look of disgust when I arrived, no she even looked relieved. Well, obviously, you and your squad stayed the whole night?" deduced Sherlock.

At the murdering glances he received from the men and women in the office, Sherlock had a sudden inkling that maybe this was a bit not good. However, when he thought that some of them were considering clubbing him to death, Donovan arrived with some files and just cut the tension:

"We received a new tox report. This one by Molly, much better than the dumbass' that did the first. Oh, and she sent some other tests too. Ones we didn't request." Said the curly haired woman matter-of-factly.

"I did." Said Sherlock, refusing to air the sigh of relief at the interruption of Donovan. He gingerly took one of the files from the young sergeant's hands and browsed its contents rapidly. He then took another and kept up until he had perused all the files. Entranced as he was by the results, he didn't see Lestrade glaring at him with a look of utter disbelief before glancing at Donovan. The woman just hunched her shoulders back at him and sat on the chair at her desk. Finally, after some time, Sherlock turned to Lestrade and said:

"Ah, finally, there might be some clue on where the first part of the crime occurred." He said, before looking around him. The men that had been there earlier were all gone, only leaving him, Lestrade and Donovan in the room.

Donovan, who had somewhat rested her head on her crossed arms, managed a groan before replying grumpily:

"Not possible. Molly told me she couldn't find anything relevant. Please don't send us in one of your merry chases now." Her tone was almost pleading.

"Are you sure of yourself Sherlock?" also doubtfully asked Lestrade.

"Lestrade, sometimes I wonder how you manage to actually catch criminals without me… The clue is the absence of clue! What do we have? Nothing! No cement dirt, nor any more common variety, no shards of wood, no trace of fabric or vegetal. Nothing, the victim was killed in an almost sterile environment! Not that many isolated locations that would have such qualities. So, of course, we can dismiss abandoned buildings and such as they're certainly not be in pristine conditions. So we're looking for a tiled room – much easier to clean – in a building that is not abandoned but obviously condemned for some reasons. Not restaurants – populated areas, not really the most discreet way to murder someone. So, of course a slaughterhouse or something akin closed by sanitary inspection – any remnants of blood that the killer couldn't wash would be attributed to a much more mundane cause. So, now we know what to look for!" Sherlock was almost giddy with the revelation.

However, apart from a doubtful look shared by the two officers of the law, Sherlock couldn't elicit as vivid reactions as he expected. Damn, how inconvenient that John had to work today. He was always such the fervent admirer. Lestrade and Donovan, on the other hand, not so much. They sighed heavily as they both stood up from their chairs. At that Sherlock stilled:

"What now?" he asked almost pouting at their lack of reaction to this new turn in the investigation.

"Now, we go get some rest." Replied Lestrade dismissively. Before Sherlock could even open the mouth, the DI cut tin "We're toast with Sally and the first crime scene isn't going anywhere, so now, we're going to sleep." He finished with a voice that didn't allow for argument.

As he and Donovan exited the room, he finally tossed back "And don't tell me that you don't want to go and have a look for yourself without us."

Sherlock, first taken aback, finally smiled. Lestrade's deduction skills seemed to eventually improve with time. So he stayed behind and made good use of the police database to look for what he wanted. Nobody interrupted him nor questioned his presence in the otherwise empty office. However, nothing in the database gave away any building that matched the description he gave Lestrade and Donovan. He almost sighed at the uselessness of the Met's tools. He'll have to rely on his network of course. Before getting up, he sent a few messages to the individuals he found were the best qualified for the task. For a few seconds, he hesitated to pull Wiggins from his current task of watching Dr Hooper. After all, she was already followed by his brother's agents. But finally decided against it. With that, he got up and smiled when his phone beeped with an incoming text. It was John and finally, the doctor seemed to have taken an interest in the case as he proposed to join him for the afternoon. And the fact that he proposed to meet up at Bart's was neither displeasing. Sherlock would have time to check in on his current experiments while waiting for news from his irregulars.

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_So, any thought about what he'll face when he'll be at Bart's?_


	18. Chapter 18

_Hello all. I know it's been a while since I last posted but lots of work, illness and other plot bunnies plaguing me just kept me from updating the story. I'll try to update the story much more regularly as I'm now in holidays but sometimes I just get stuck even if I know where I want the story to go. Anyway, here is the new chapter!_

_And also, I don't own anything (I never said it before but thought it was quite obvious, now the error of my ways stand corrected)._

_Since it's been quite some time since my last post, here is a quick summary. There's a case with a serial killer cutting girls open and burning their hearts out, Molly telling off both Sherlock and her boyfriend, Sherlock being taunted by John and Mrs. Hudson about his relationship with Molly and trying to solve a case. At this point, he's making his way to St Bart's to pass up time while waiting for his irregulars to come back to him with the location on the primary crime scene._

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At the morgue, Molly was in the lab, alternating between looking at some images of samples that Nick had sent her and the reactions that she could obtain. More precisely, she was trying to determine if she could generate a false positive with a limited set of other substances. Nick was seated in a stool next to her and was either glaring at his phone, arguing with his team or looking at her progress smiling. As far as her usual schedule went, this was not so different. Maybe a little nosier. She focused once more on the sample but couldn't replicate anything. She throw her gloves and came to Nick. He put his phone on speaker and gestured to her to speak:

"Hmmm. Hello… everyone. Hmm… So, I tried to replicate any false positive with the different possible substances but got nothing. Have you any idea if it could be a specific mix of them or anything else?" she asked, a little nervous to be talking to Nick's team.

A collective hello sounded back and she was relieved as no one seemed to question her role in this. From the previous arguments that she had heard, Nick and his team tended to discuss as much differentials as each other's personal lives. She was quite glad that right now they weren't so interested in hers. Instead, they were talking to each other trying to find out what other substance might have been in contact with their patient. They were still debating between themselves when Nick rolled his eyes and interrupted:

"Yes, yes. We're not playing Family Feud, give me something better than this. We're not going to test all the periodic element table!" he ironized, his hand crisping in his left leg. "Call me back when you have a good list!" and he disconnected.

Molly had started to recognise that Nick's increased pain in his leg was a symptom of frustration. He needed to find what was causing the false positive and she couldn't help but wanting to help him. More so even, as she had cancelled their date in a fit of anger she couldn't quite understand. Yes, guilt was a powerful emotion she knew. Which was why, instead of waiting for more than the team, she was trying to think about a combination of the elements that could react together and create such a result. However, in that case, any change in the dosage of each element could lead to a fail. And unfortunately, she only had her lunch break to try and help Nick. After that, she'd have to go back to the morgue. Even more so since she'd been requested by the Met for an autopsy – not for the case that Greg was working on but another where she didn't even know the DI in charge. At that precise moment, Sherlock and John entered the lab. Sherlock, as was his habit, managing to swoosh the doors without them hitting the walls. It was, as usual, quite a dramatic entrance.

On her left Nick snickered slightly but quickly went back to the screen of his phone. But Sherlock had heard and sent him a slivering look.

"Problem?" the detective asked coldly.

"Not at all. My fourteen-year old heart just melted at your grand arrival. Do you mind doing it again while I record it with my phone? I'd really like to have a keepsake." Sarcastically replied the doctor, for once confronting the detective.

Molly and John exchanged worried looks at that. Molly knew that Nick was frustrated with his case, which, she had found, made him extremely irritated and difficult with other people. On the other hand, Sherlock hated people being sarcastic toward him. More so as evidently there was no love lost between the two men. John and Molly held their breaths waiting for an inevitable show down between the two. However, instead of launching in scathing deductions, Sherlock ignored the GP and came at Molly's side, hovering slightly over her experiment. Case didn't pursue either but kept his eyes fixed on the detective as he made his way close to the petite woman. Case gripped slightly his leg when Sherlock bent over Molly but almost nothing on his face betrayed anything otherwise. John took the scene in, a weird feeling in his stomach as he saw the grin of the doctor drop a little before relaxing back in its broad and ironic usual form. The strangest thing, of course, was how Sherlock ignored the man. This wasn't the dismissive behaviour he had harboured when dealing with Jim from IT, nor was it the awkward reserve displayed towards Tom, this was new. A clear refusal to acknowledge the other man. Well, at least, he'd have something else to talk about other than charred cadavers with Mary tonight, mused the army doctor. Sherlock took a look at the experiment that was being conducted and finally asked, curious:

"What were you working on Molly?"

Molly whirled between him and Nick and answered:

"Oh, yes. We're trying to replicate a false positive for this test with this set of substances. It's for one of Nick's case." She explained, still a little nervous at the current volatility in the air.

Just at the moment, Nick's phone started to chime as a series of emails arrived and he lowered once more his eyes to the screen in his hand. John shot a look at Sherlock just in time to see daggers directed to the doctor in his friend's eyes. Well, that was also new. Molly, oblivious and still turned to her lover, hesitated slightly before asking:

"Maybe we could ask Sherlock for help." She proposed.

At that Sherlock rolled his eyes but frowned when he heard Nick scoffing. Molly reddened a little, and her voice took a little edge when she pushed:

"You know, he is a graduate chemist. If anyone can work out the right combination of elements that could create a positive, it's him."

At that Sherlock, felt something bloom in his chest: Molly was defending him. Not that it seemed to matter to the man in front of them as he was still focused on whatever medical babbling was appearing on his screen. And indeed, Nick was quite dismissive when he started to reply:

"Oh, yes. So the consulting detective also branches out in medical advice? I'd…" he started out. However, as his eyes lifted to Molly's, he paused and after a few second decided to say "Well. Looking at you work is such a sexy show. Holmes is not really my type so I'm feeling a little let down at the alternative. But whatever, if he wants to knock himself out, be my guest! I have to call the team back anyway." And with that, he got up and grumbled about idiotic teams as he made his way out of the lab.

As Nick got out of the lab, Molly turned to Sherlock with big, imploring eyes. The detective thought about saying no, just to spite the M.D. that hadn't considered his skills high enough to manage this particular task. However, a quick look at his pathologist and also some curiosity over the experiment finally won him over and he relented.

"Of course, Molly Hooper, I'd wouldn't want to fail you."

At this John sent him a quizzical look, one that Sherlock evidently chose to ignore and instead focused on the experiment in front of him. Molly's phone vibrated then and with a big smile to the two men, she exited the lab. John sat on a stool, quickly checked his own phone to see if he had any news from Mary and got a quick look at his blog's stats. As he was considering if he should text Mary about the odd behaviour of Sherlock or if this was for a face-to-face conversation, he shot a quick glance at Sherlock, who had taken place behind Molly's microscope. Sherlock without bothering lifting his eyes from the experiment, nonetheless remarked:

"John, stop blowing things out of proportions."

John froze at that. Why was he still taken aback by Sherlock, he couldn't know. But again, for such a blunt man, to achieve this level of hypocrisy was incredible. A little pricked, he leaned back on his stool and crossed his arms in front of him:

"Why, Sherlock. Don't see anything that might be blown out of proportion. Of course, since it has always been in your character to go out of your way to be of help to Molly. Yeah, that's what you're always described as: the knight in shining armour that rescue damsels in distress."

"John, this is just an experiment. Quite a fun experiment. I'm not so arrogant as to forego this just because the lover is an obnoxious ass." Dismissively stated Sherlock succeeding for once to utter the noun he'd dubbed the diagnostician without too much disdain.

"Sherlock, yes you are!" indignantly answered John. Just look at the nerve of the man. This was Sherlock, who would refuse a cool case just because Mycroft suggested it to him, and he had the audacity to try and deny it? But behind the indignation, there was also some curiosity in the change of behaviour "You know what? I think that Mary's right. You fancy Molly Hooper." Finally and calmly said John.

At that Sherlock finally raised his eyes from the experiment and sent a scathing look at his friend.

"John, Mary and you have to stop reading Anderson's blog. You're both starting to sound incredibly like sappy and sentimental teenage girls. Confusing your little romantic fantasy for reality. Not sure that's a quality for good parenting."

But John was sure of himself now. Yes, Mary had been right. Sherlock fancied Molly. It had been a long way coming, but nobody could dismiss the evidence. So he didn't feel very at risk to be wrong when he said:

"Want to discuss reality, then? So, what a good detective could make of the following: you instantly apologise to her which you never do except when forced to, you don't like any of her boyfriends, you have her as your confidant, you made her bedroom one of your bolthole – not her spare bedroom but her bloody bedroom, and now, you do things for her when you don't do anything for anyone. So what do you deduce?"

Sherlock had narrowed his eyes at each and every little fact that John, counting on his fingers, had put to him. Irritation clearer and clearer as the little data was highlighted to him, painting a picture of romance that he would be hard pressed to deny. So, obviously there was only solution.

"Shut up John or the next time I have a case, instead of running you with me, I'll let Mary shoot you."

With that final assessment, he returned to the samples and put John on mute before he tried to replicate the symptoms described in the adjacent file on the army doctor. John, on his hand, felt he had made his point. Sherlock while quite threatening hadn't deny his words. However, there was still something nagging at him. He really had to discuss this running or shooting thing with Mary. Not sure that he had liked what he heard.


	19. Chapter 19

_I don't own anything._

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Unfortunately, Sherlock's network wasn't able to find the location of the primary scene before a new body was discovered. By that moment, Sherlock was positively irate with everything and everybody. So when Sherlock and John arrived on the crime scene to join Lestrade and Donovan, it was like a dark cloud was following them. Lestrade almost feared for the safety of the paparazzi as it seemed that John was also in a dark mood. Usually more mild-tempered than his counterpart, he actually told one of the reporters to fuck off when the one asked him, whether he had been trapped in marriage because Mary was pregnant and whether it changed anything to his relationship to Sherlock. So, as the two made their way to Greg and Sally, the two police officers shared a dreading look between them.

"Where is the body, Lestrade?" growled Sherlock without any greetings of any sorts.

"This way, back at the end of the curve. The scene is like the last time, scrubbed and bleached thoroughly with only the smell of charred flesh to overpower it." Said Lestrade as Donovan rolled her eyes but refrained to say anything.

John followed after Sherlock with a quick greeting to the two police officers. Lestrade and Donovan shared a look, both knowing this was one of those days where scathing remarks and passive aggressive behaviour would be on the forefront. If Donovan mostly avoided voicing any opinions when Sherlock was there, whether because she felt some guilt about the events predeceasing the Fall or just new grudging respect for the detective, Lestrade suddenly felt the need to needle the two friends after the merry chase they had sent him the previous days.

"So, you two had a little domestic or what?" he asked, not really trying for inconspicuous nor concerned.

John shot him a dirty look but didn't answer. As for Sherlock, he seemed engrossed into his deductions as he was muttering under his breath. Greg's smile almost faded, seeing that he hadn't been able to bait any of the two consultants, but as Sherlock leaned over the corpse, he finally replied:

"Why, isn't it obvious? You're still a detective, broadly speaking. Haven't you see the unusual pillow marks on John's face and his stiff gait? It's quite evident that he had a domestic but with his wife, not me. It's not like I'd ever send him sleep on the couch."

John turned beet red before mumbling about bloody sociopaths that lived to make his life difficult. Donovan, on her side, snickered lightly before finally reigning in her mirth at the unintended ambiguous statement. As for Lestrade, he just smiled broadly, sure to embarrass the detective once he'd realise what he said.

"Or really? You'd never let him sleep on the couch?" asked Greg, making sure that his voice carried out toward his fellow officers.

Watson swore at that and Greg wondered whether he would intervene. But a look at the army doctor and Lestrade felt sure that he would keep his thoughts for him and try to convey them with a dirty look.

"Of course not! What would be the benefit in it? I'd rather have a somewhat refreshed and up to work blogger than the current grumpy and tired mess that we have now." Replied gingerly Sherlock.

"Oi, Sherlock!" finally shouted John. "Weren't you the one who said to me that you hated small talk?"

"What John? Weren't you the one that said to me that I should engage more with the officers of the law so as to build a mutual friendly working relationship?" quoted the detective back to his friend.

"Not when your friendly working relationship will be based on misconstrued perception of our relationship! People will talk!" angrily shouted back John.

"John, if your marriage and incoming infant is not strong material enough to stop the rumours altogether, I don't see what should. And please, don't start again with your little fantasy tale regarding my sentimental state." Calmly said Sherlock, leaning down to have a sniff at the body.

"What sentimental state?" interrupted Lestrade, quite curious about this new development.

"Sherlock fancies Molly." Replied John stubbornly despite the murderous glance sent his way by the detective.

"What? Molly Hooper?" asked the DI flabbergasted, before sending a disgruntled look at Donovan.

"I do not fancy Molly Hooper. She is my pathologist, nothing else. And she's otherwise engaging in sexual activity with that obnoxious doctor." Growled back Sherlock, now crouching near the corpse and having a look at something beside the head.

"Obnoxious doctor? What the hell is he talking about?" whispered Greg to Sally, trying not to sound too discomfited.

"Well, she's seeing a hotshot from America. From what she told me, he's one of few that can stand Sherlock's deduction and actually make fun of him…" started slowly Sally as if she was admitting something she didn't want to.

"Ok, but why didn't you tell me?" said Lestrade, his focus having shifted completely away from whatever John and Sherlock were doing.

"Because, she knows that you've been taking a little fancy to my pathologist and didn't want to ruin your hopes. As if those weren't forlorn anyway." Sherlock had made his way to the two police officers and was now standing in front of them, holding out a few evidence bags. "Don't look at me that way, it was quite evident from the way you clung at her during John's wedding, from your clothing efforts whenever we are required at the morgue – totally unnecessary as we both know that her fashion sense is quite awful. The strutting in the morgue might be a little more to the point but doesn't change the fact that she'll only see you as a brotherly figure. Which is good as what you're looking for is some rebound, comforting relationship before going back to the unfaithful shrews you seem to favour." Deduced Sherlock, cutting short Greg's attempts at denial. As Sally was going to intervene between the two of them, Sherlock zeroed his eyes on her and kept on with his diatribe. "Actually, that may be the reason why Sally didn't tell you about the lover, she didn't want you to make harsh and hasty decisions and have to shoot you if you ever found yourself breaking the heart of my pathologist. A sentiment that I fully share and help with, would those circumstances occur. "

John, who had followed up after Sherlock, just shook his head disbelieving what he was hearing. The look on Greg and Sally was also priceless. Their faces wore exactly the same expression and was one that wouldn't have differed had Sherlock had sprouted two heads instead of telling Lestrade off of Molly Hooper. The surprise was such that Greg couldn't muster any indignation at the accusations nor Sally any disgust at sharing the same state of mind than Sherlock about something. The detective, quite unaware of the effect of his observations, which was mostly the case whenever he went into a spring of deductions, kept on.

"Now that I think of it, this is a common characteristic between the two of you, to set your minds on people that are obviously attached to others and unable to commit to a monogamous relationship. Hmmm…" After a shrug and maybe registering the arrested faces of the two detectives, Sherlock went back to more serious matter "Well. Anyway, Please send the body to the morgue and register these. I'll meet you at Bart's." he finished before leaving the scene.

From the look on John's face, he was on the verge of saying something. However, he seemed to finally resolve to keep whatever he wanted to say and left after a final goodbye. Sally and Greg, still frozen in place, followed the two men with their eyes until a cab conveniently sprouted from nowhere to take them to Bart's.

"Did I hear right?" whispered the senior officer.

"Yeah, that's the weirdest small talk I've ever heard, but I think it does in fact counts as small talk." Commented Sally Donovan, a little taken aback from all she heard.

"No, that's not that. Did Sherlock deduced me? And warned me away from Molly Hooper? Really?" asked Greg.

Sally shot him an exasperated look. Of course, the only thing that would remember her colleague and friend would be exactly that.

"Yeah. But most of all, I remember him referring to Molly as his pathologist!" she replied.

"You don't mean that… No, not Sherlock… Seriously?" said Greg, interrogating Sally with his eyes. As he replayed Sherlock's words in his head, he seemed to finally understand and his face fell a little.

Sally just nodded, trying to wrap her head around such a strange concept as the consulting detective in love with the quiet, kind pathologist.

In the cab, Sherlock was once again focused on the case. Strangely, the conversation had not distracted too much from the observations, maybe he'll do it again, then. Next to him John sighed deeply.

"What John? You're not again trying to talk about the Molly Hooper thing, are you?" asked Sherlock, trying to cut short the discussion before it even started.

"No, it's not about that. You know, the friendly small talk thing, just forget it." Said John as the cab started to slow down.

"Why?" asked Sherlock, genuinely confused.

"It's really not your area." Replied John as he opened the door of the cab and exited the cab.


	20. Chapter 20

_Hello all! This chapter is quite special to me as the dialogue in it is what prompted me to write a sherlolly fanfiction. I had this idea of Sherlock facing Molly's boyfriend, finding that someone quite at his level of thought and finally deducing more than he would care for (I really wanted for Sherlock to have one of his deductions bit him in the ass, if you'll excuse my French). So, I really hope that you'll enjoy this chapter as much as I had fun writing it._

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Sherlock entered the lab intent on finding his pathologist and directing her to the new cadaver that was making his way to the morgue. However, no sign of the doctor. Instead, the…_ lover…_ was seated in a stool next to Molly's workbench. When wasn't he ever these days? Impatiently wondered the detective. The G.P. was on the phone, presumably with his team back in Boston as he was discussing differentials of a patient:

"It's never lupus! Now, stop being lazy and go have a lobotomy. And by 'have a lobotomy', I mean go drill a hole in the woman's head for Christ's sake!" he ordered.

Case ended his call and turned to a pacing Sherlock who was visibly looking for the young woman who called the morgue her domain, his blogger in toe as ever. Taking his mind of the medical puzzle happening back in his hospital, he smiled as he started needling the dark haired man in front of him:

"Looking for Molly? She just went to get a cup of coffee – lack of sleep, you know - but she'll soon be back, I'm sure. " he cheerily said, knowing that it would indeed annoy the detective.

Sherlock who'd been hell-bent on ignoring the irritating blonde found himself forced to acknowledge him:

"Dr, I see you're quite chipper today? A new patient dying from an innocuous disease? Wouldn't that require you to be, I don't know, not _here_." he sneered.

John scrunched his eyes shut at his own bloody stupidity. He blamed his lack of sleep in not anticipating what might occur if Sherlock was to be meet Dr Case. His best friend was in a terrible mood because of the lack of leads in his case and the new unfurling feelings he had for the pathologist was definitely not helping. Taking a quick, professional look at the scene just in front of him, the doctor and the detective facing off, he had to suppress the sudden impulse to take a step back as if assisting to something akin to a car crash waiting to happen. Clearly, the tension between the diagnostician and the detective had built since their first meeting and yet, the former soldier was bewildered that it would go with a bang at this moment of all times. That Sherlock would divert some of his attention away from the case was quite unprecedented. Oh he'd say snarky remarks for sure, but to purposely get into a fight, even less start one… _That_, he avoided.

"They're always dying from a cold. And I avoid meeting them as much as possible, they always try to lie and I don't have time for their smudging the diagnostic." sarcastically replied the doctor. "As for my presence in the morgue, I hope the reason for it is quite obvious. Actually, I would definitely recommend it." theatrically put Dr Case.

John looked lost as he wondered what Case was inferring. The only thing that would made sense would be something about Molly. But certainly, the doctor hadn't picked up on Sherlock's new attitude regarding the pathologist. The blogger certainly hope he hadn't. Yet, as he was musing about whatever this new and not so nice version of the easy-going American was implying, the G.P. enlightened him.

"Yes, Sherlock, I do mean sex. It's also the answer to my chipper state of mind, come to think of it. Which is why I do recommend it." said Case as a ugly grin formed on his face at the cold look appearing on Sherlock's face. "You should try it for once Sherlock!" he added at last.

The stillness of Sherlock took a somewhat predatory edge and John wondered whether he had to prepare launching himself between the two men if Sherlock decided to hit the diagnostician. Or maybe join him? The doctor was quite a bastard to kiss and tell in such a way. Molly wasn't a bone to fight over, for Christ' sake. However, the only response to the metaphorical thrown of the gauntlet that Sherlock demonstrated, was narrowing his eyes on the man in face of him.

"Oh. I surprised you? Or is it sex that has you so flabbergasted? Don't worry, I'm not suggesting what you think. Well, except if that's your kink. I mean the morgue thing, not my pathologist. Well, anyway, whatever gets you off…" attacked the GP, the malevolent smile spreading on his face at the shocked faces of the two Brits, well more like one Brit at this moment but he was sure he'll get to the other soon.

Sherlock froze even further at the last reference. Molly was his pathologist, no one else's. He considered quickly assaulting the man but a quick look told him that his opponent was betting on it. No, the only way to win this was to be clever. And being clever meant he didn't react to what the man said. So, he schooled his features, completely dismissing the anger he felt and decided to nip any discussion about sex in the bud:

"Not everyone is obsessed with the subject. Not in England, at least. Must be some cultural defect of your puritan upbringing that you seem to think that everything is revolving around it." Stated Sherlock, voice utterly devoid of interest, channelling his best imitation of Mycroft.

"Oh really? Not what your previous girlfriend - The name is Janine, right? – led us to believe. So, you really have a hat fetish? So nice, that your British tabloids are so fond of those dirty stories and have the good sense of sharing it…" countered Nick.

"Your curiosity about my proclivities should be satisfied, then." Clipped Sherlock.

"What I find weird is that such a lively woman would go on and on waxing about your sexual prowess. After all, hell has no fury like a woman scorned. She should have gone straight for the prized jewels and if not literally, at least metaphorically. No, it doesn't make sense, does it? Unless… You didn't actually have sex with her! And since the tabloids also rumoured some quite not founded relationship between you and your army doctor… No one before in your life, I gather. A virgin, then. Don't worry Holmes, even if you're totally new at it, the basics are quite instinctual. No need to overthink it."

John made a sound from behind Sherlock – from the rumours surrounding their friendship or the gastly attacks on his friend's sexuality, Sherlock wasn't sure - but the detective immediately subtly gestured him to step back. This was between him and Case. If there as one thing he hated, it was that someone would try and deduce him. It reminded him of Mycroft and he really couldn't abide it. He focused his laser eyes on the enemy and deleted the presence of his blogger from his mind. He then angled his head on the right, steepled his fingers and started deducing:

"So that's your diagnostic?" he scoffed. "Want to hear mine? While admittedly one of the most brilliant M.D. in your generation you don't hold any higher position than the head of your –very small, three, no, four people – team when more mediocre peers are at the head of large services. A team, whose turnover rate is over the ceiling because you constantly abuse them verbally. You're also struggling with a past of addiction, another reason for your behaviour and the lack of prestigious position. That and your cases are your distraction from popping little white pills into your mouth. Which you haven't done since a medical error led to the death of a patient. Some would think that the guilt triggered your sobriety, but we both know that's not the case, don't we? Your ego couldn't stand the idea that your intelligence would be somewhat muddled. In a nutshell, you're an egomaniac whose manipulative tendencies border on sociopathic. Ironically though, while you can't stand the mediocrity of the other meds, you really can't function without them as the mental crutch that you so vehemently refuse in physical form" pointed Sherlock as he nodded to the left leg that the diagnostician subtly clutched. "Now, am I close?" finished the detective.

The doctor's smile dropped for a second as the deduction hit a nerve. However, if the deduction had been swift and lethal, it wasn't only to the diagnostician. As John started looking between Case and Sherlock with a bewildered look on his face, he wondered if he was the only one that realised if not for the field of expertise, Sherlock could have been deducing his own psyche. His friend seemed to have come to the same conclusion as he roared his head slightly back. The gesture, however subtle, was noticed by Case. He regained ground and launched:

"I'd say that you're the one to talk but I see that it finally dawned on you. But please, tell me that you didn't think you were the first?"

"The first what?" sneered Sherlock, mind still reeling from his own deduction.

"Well, Molly's first sociopath. It's the object of all this delightful little drama, isn't it?" interrogated Nick.

It was what Sherlock had avoided from the start, dragging the pathologist in the intellectual joust he was having with the doctor. But it seemed that had been the point of his opponent all the time. Why? Did he feel threatened by him? Sherlock looked at the man and forced his mind to go to an area that wasn't his forte: sentiment. Normally, it was John that was the expert but this was his pathologist they were talking about. The M.D. resented him. That was a fact. Even if he somewhat reigned in his aggression in front of Molly, the almost friendly mask slid every time she left the room. A clear sign of… Jealousy? But the most curious was that he would behave in the petite woman's presence. After all, he was an obnoxious prick with his team and colleagues. But not to her. The answer finally dawned on Sherlock. The man had feelings for her. More so, he knew she didn't share those feelings or he wouldn't feel so threatened. A little burst of warmth exploded in his chest and he put it down to the knowledge that he had the upper hand. A quick and dangerous smile formed on the detective lips as he took a step closer to the G.P. The man braced himself but apart from a defiant look didn't move. If Sherlock wasn't so angry, he would have been impressed.

"Yet, the first is always so disappointing, isn't that what they say, doctor?" he growled.

John, still locked in place by the weirdest scene he'd seen since Sherlock's and Janine's moment at Baker Street, frowned. Was that a sexual innuendo? Sherlock didn't do sexual innuendos. Well, normally he didn't verbally battle for a woman as a peacock in front of a challenger either. But still, even in the presence of the Woman, Sherlock hadn't gone in that direction. He had to really have it bad for Molly, though.

In the other side of the lab, the M.D.'s face was stony with fury. But Sherlock didn't relent and took another step until he was invading the man's personal space.

"And most importantly, you won't be the last. I'm sure we both know that." Finished Sherlock with the low predatory voice that he reserved for the people he despised the most.

"Last what?" interrupted a cheerful yet puzzled voice from the door of the lab.

The three men whirled around to see that Molly had indeed returned from the cafeteria with a coffee in hand. Only one coffee noted Sherlock, secretly pleased that she didn't take one for the _lover_.

"Cadaver" he chimed in, breaking the tension in the room and surprising everyone.

"W-what?" stuttered Molly, her eyes widening to saucers.

"We have a new cadaver. From our serial killer. We came to fetch you to the morgue." Replied quickly Sherlock, not letting anything on about what happened during her coffee break.

He quickly strode to the pathologist and with a demonstrative and deliberate hand in the small of her back, he turned and directed Molly towards the exit. John followed but quickly glanced at the M.D. back on his stool. The man wasn't smiling anymore, the pleasant mask totally off now.

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_OK, so here we see the bad side of Nick and I hope that we see the gentleman side of Sherlock. It was very nice to have the two attitudes reversed compared to chapter 7 where Nick was much more attentive and Sherlock self-centered. But Sherlock remains a dark knight rather than a shiny one (the "cadaver" remark wasn't that innocuous)._


	21. Chapter 21

_Hello all, I'm posting this chapter quickly while it's not been thoroughly edited. Hope there is not too many mistakes. A warning, in this chapter Sherlock goes back to his usual self regarding Molly. It's quite a change from last chapter but Sherlock's starting to feel the strain of unresolved feelings being thrown constantly in his face, so I hope it explains a little his attitude._

_I don't own anything but thanks to Moffat, Gatiss and ACD for those wonderful characters._

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If Molly knew one thing after so many years next to Sherlock, it was that when he was in one of those manic and dark moods, she'd better limit talking to him to a minimal. However, she'd been unsettled the last few days and she couldn't understand why. All was well, there had been no crisis with her friends, Sherlock was kind of nice, her work was interesting and not overwhelming and her affair with Nick was going great. Well, there was still that little pesky little thing with Moriarty that triggered nightmares at night, but she was lucky enough to spend her nights with Nick and strangely, having his warm body sleeping next to hers was all the reassurance she needed to get back to sleep. She wasn't sure that Nick would appreciate that one of the things that she liked the most about him was that he had the same function as a teddy bear, but it really was a nice plus. So, again, all in all, everything was great and she should be quite content. And she was not, as the G.P. was sharing more and more with her and now, came to her to use as a sounding board and included her in his diagnostics, she felt as if nearing the edge of a cliff, dread tainting some of her interactions with her lover. She needed to talk about it with someone.

"So, John, do you know if I could borrow Mary one day this week?" she asked, meeting John's eyes over the cut she made to separate the stomach from the intestine of the dead girl.

"Well, you know that she'd been required to rest and not move, which is actually easier for our surveillance details, so the best would be that the two of you convene of the date of your girl's night and I'm sure I'll be able to convince Greg to come and have a pint with me while you talk and do your women's stuff."' Replied warmly John at his friend.

Molly looked visibly relieved as she thanked him and John felt somehow a little ill-at-ease. He knew that Mary was one of Molly's best friends – the reverse was also true – but the fact was, he and the pathologist had been friend for longer. Surely, if there was anything worrying Molly, she should be able to come to him as well as to Mary. Or didn't she feel she could? John squirmed as he realised that since Sherlock had come back and he'd learnt the role Molly had played in his false death, there had been some distance between the two of them. And that distance had definitely been his doing. Moreover, once he'd finally been at peace with it, there had been too much things going on, his wedding, her break-up, Sherlock's engagement and then he'd been estranged from Mary and mad once again at the world. And Molly had become friends with Mary and while not explicitly choosing a side, had been much closer to his wife. So, remembering all of this, John suddenly felt guilty. Molly had been there for him after the fall. She'd texted him, reassuring him about the fact that Sherlock was not a fraud. She'd come get him from a pub once when he'd been drunk out of his mind and she'd took him back at his place, staying with him until morning. She'd told nothing about why he'd been so drunk, that had been the first anniversary of Sherlock's death but she'd come with him to the cemetery and not said anything. She'd been a true friend. He hadn't.

"You know, if there is anything wrong, you can talk to me too. Is there anything I can do?" he asked Molly, ignoring the furious looks from Sherlock who hovered behind the pathologist as she cut into the cadaver.

"No, no. That's OK. Don't worry, it's just girl things, you know…" stuttered slightly Molly. She blushed for good measure and smiled timidly. John replied to the smile and didn't meet the eyes of his best friend that were currently drilling into him in a way too reminiscent of when he was planning his brother's murder.

"Yeah, no problem. It's just, I'm your friend too." He finally stated and felt relieved as Molly beamed at him. Sherlock, still behind her rolled dramatically his eyes, which almost made chuckle John. The git was so obviously jealous that it was becoming entertaining.

"Now, that all this useless sentiment has been laid out, could we skip the group hug and just return to the autopsy?" asked drily the detective.

Molly stuttered again as she apologised and got back to her examination of the body. The dark haired man almost sighed heavily when he saw that her movements were stiff and jerky. But after a few moments, they took back that efficient, almost graceful-like fluidity that they had whenever she was focused on her job. The detective had to refrain himself from letting his eyes linger on what she was doing and made his own deductions as his pathologist carefully and methodically searched for evidence. His eyes then caught on something dark on the side of the victim head, just at the beginning of the hairline below her hear. He made a move to have a closer look. However, he had forgotten how close he'd stood to the woman that was cutting on the corpse and in his hurry, knocked her on the side and the scalpel, she normally so dexterously wielded, slipped and nicked into her stretched fingers. Molly yelped as the latex glove and her skin broke and Sherlock barely turned to the distressed noise and just kept going.

"Good Lord, Molly! Can't you try and not be in my way all the times!" bellowed the detective as he moved over the pathologist to the corpse.

As he finally obliged to look up, both John and Molly shot him a dirty look. And then, John was moving toward the young woman to take a look at Molly's hand. Sherlock, felt even more irritated at that. Since when did his two friends banded together against him? As the army doctor and his best friend entered a staring match, Molly discarded her glove. At the snap of latex, John broke the match and took her fingers in his palm to assess the damage. All the while, Sherlock went back to the interrupted autopsy, as if he was the one to do it anyway and focused on the dark spot he'd saw earlier. He muted out the whispers between both doctors and took a swab to the mysterious substance.

"Here, Molly. Once you're done with your need for coddling, you can process it. I'm almost sure this is what we need to break the case." Said Sherlock, back to his cold, case-absorbed self, handing a sealed evidence bag to Molly.

"Sherlock, do you know, that I'll have to run tests on myself to make sure I haven't been infected with STIs or any other infections this woman might have had? Also, my hands are my professional tools! If I had ripped into a nerve, it might have compromised my career! So please, tell me you're not serious when you say that I'm actually being coddled!" spat Molly, fear and anger merging together as she was standing up to Sherlock.

"Well, if you took more care about what you were doing, you wouldn't have injured yourself, and neither would you have contaminated evidence." The detective replied defensively, putting the evidence bag on the table next to the slab since Molly seemed bent ton ignoring it.

"What? Well, it would be easier if I hadn't a bloody detective shadowing me and then, pushing through me while I was doing my PM!" she answered back with a shriek.

"Never bothered you before."

At that, Molly's mouth closed with an audible click. It was true, she was usually quite capable to work around the man and never before had she had such an incident occur. She was still angry though. Because she shouldn't have to have to work around him. No, she should be able to do her job normally as any other pathologist could. Where she'd not have to deal with the dark haired man and his sudden changes of mood and movements that needed constant anticipation and awareness of. The detective had to have read what was going through her head as his eyes narrowed and he quickly added:

"Anyway, if whatever is on your mind is such a distraction that you would hurt yourself over it, you'd better chose another trade." Nastily finished Sherlock, making sure that his point had been nailed down.

Molly stayed petrified for a moment, her breath caught in her throat, her right hand spamming around her bleeding fingers. Never before had the detective attacked her professional skills. Suddenly, the emotions were too much for her to handle and she felt her eyes prick with beginning of tears. She quickly turned on herself and left. Yet, she felt proud of herself as she managed to utter:

"You know what? Maybe I should."


	22. Chapter 22

_Hello all, I hope you're not too disappointed in Sherlock, it's hard for him to admit to having feelings. But it will get better, I promise!_

_Also, Sam (guest): I cannot reply to your review so I just wanted to thank you so much for your review. It's so great to hear that you like the story._

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"Well, it took a little more time but it seems that even Molly Hooper is no exception to your ill-mood jabs. Don't know if I should feel relieved or worried. I'm sure you know that what you did is more than a little not good." Said John quietly next to Sherlock as Molly left the room. Quiet but not calm, unfortunately. The doctor had mastered cold anger to a degree that it might defy Mycroft's. "And this is not your usual nastiness, maybe would you care to explain to me why?"

"Again, John? We have a case, you know." Replied the irritated detective.

Since he'd escorted Molly to the morgue, Sherlock had felt john's gaze weighting on them alternately as if some great mystery was going to unravel any second. Not to mention the little scene before, surely something performed to rouse his jealousy – and he hated to admit that it had succeeded. So, Sherlock knew exactly what his blogger was going to say before he even uttered the words. Why people did keep their mind in the gutter, he would frankly never understand. And then, they have the nerve to berate him for his lack of caring for the victims. He, at least, was focused on something that would actually help them. As the thoughts played angrily in his mind, Sherlock straightened up from where he was scrutinizing the corpse. He was going to the other side of the slab when John stood in his path.

"Sherlock, I know that there has been a lot to process lately, but you can't just push everything back and ignore it altogether. You need to talk about this."

"John, we have a serial killer with quite the short cooling period. I do think that his victims would rather having me focused on finding him than rattling about whatever you think I need to rattle about." Countered Sherlock, side-stepping his blogger.

"Sherlock, you're slashing at everyone like a roused bear. Right now, I'm more concerned that people would actually try to pin this on you rather than find the killer. Is all that about, you know, what Nick Case said?" asked John with genuine care etched on its face.

At that Sherlock recoiled from his observation and shot a disdainful look at his friend:

"Why does everybody assume that sex bothers me?" asked Sherlock, annoyance dripping from his voice, but finally distracted from whatever observations he was doing on the corpse.

John planted his feet on the ground, crossed his arms, ready to engage in the difficult discussion. Mary would be proud of him, he knew. She'd always wondered about Sherlock's relationship with Molly but had recently been worried that the man would destroy everything in his fear of finding that he was no stranger to romantic feelings. As a result, she'd been urging her husband to try and pacify the detective before he went and botch any relationship he had with Molly. His wife had definitely very good hindsight about the detective's inner workings.

"Don't play dumb Sherlock. The sex angle was just a way for Case to needle you. The whole thing was more about whatever is going on between you and Molly." Finally said John, trying to remain calm in face of the pacing and grimacing of his best friend.

"John. There is. Nothing. Going on. Between. Molly and me. Stop romanticising everything it's become even more cumbersome than usual." Jerkily stated Sherlock.

"Yeah. Of course, I'm imagining all this. Surely. So is the man that's basically your psychic doppelganger." Came back John. As Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, John gestured wildly no and cut in "No, no. Sherlock. Don't try and deny it. He might have been crude about it and totally mistaken in regards to your sexual interest…."

John was going to continue when he heard a guffawing laugh from Sherlock. John, stopped.

"What?" snapped the army doctor.

"Once again, you don't hear me John. I'm not clueless about sexual activities nor am I asexual. I thought that I've always been clear about that: I'm married to my job. That doesn't mean that I'm not prone to arousal in a sexual manner." Spat angrily the detective.

"So, That's what you want to talk about? Your being or not a man of the flesh." John frowned. "Because, we both know you don't care a bloody thing about what people think about your sexuality. Again, I think you're deflecting the conversation not to talk about Molly." Pushed the blogger, rather like a bulldog with a bone in Sherlock's opinion.

This unusual stubbornness from John was the last draw to Sherlock's already frayed temper. Finally, all his pent-up emotions regarding his pathologist and the _lover_ came to an end and the detective felt something snap inside of him:

"What about Molly, John? What do you need to know? How I have one of my network following her just so she should be kept safe? How I read every one of her article as soon as they get out? How I may have nicked one of her blue seamed stocking the last time I was at her flat so she wouldn't wear them with the lover? Would that satisfy you, John?" manically spat the detective.

John opened his mouth, trying to get a hold on what was spluttering the detective. The last time he'd seen his best friend that agitated, he'd been drugged by a powerful terror inducing chemical agent. But, of course, Sherlock didn't let his friend interrupt and kept in his frenzy:

"Of course, John, you'd like that. After all, it would compute your idea of me as an obsessive but unaware prick. And I'm that, to some extent. But what you cannot fathom John…" here, Sherlock chuckled darkly and it was a sound that John had never heard before " …is that I'm totally aware about what kind of feelings Molly Hooper arouses in me. Do you think I've never imagined what would her hair look like in my grip? That I never looked at her throat to discern the rush of her pulse and wondered under which circumstances I could get it to hasten? What do you think I do in the morning when I've had yet another dream about the time when she asked me for coffee?"

At that John's eyes went round. The time she'd asked him for coffee? That was years ago. Wasn't he in the middle of an experiment or something? With bruises and a ridding crop? Suddenly, as the image finally formed in his mind, John gulped loudly. That was definitely too much information.

"Oy, oy,oy. Stop it Sherlock!" he finally shouted.

Sherlock turned to him, finally breaking from his pacing around. "What John? Isn't this what you wanted?" he sneered.

"Mate, Molly surely wouldn't appreciate you shouting in her morgue that you might have been fantasizing about her. Especially after you managed to jostled her into cutting herself." Answered back John, a steely glint in his eyes.

Sherlock had the decency to look embarrassed at the display, an interesting shade

"Sorry, John. I guess, I've been acting a little… upset." Finally managed the detective.

"Unhinged, you mean." Clipped John. "At least no one heard, I'm not sure I'd have been able to handle another 'Sherlock Holmes, vampire' story." Grumbled John. At Sherlock's curious look, he added: "You know, the white skin, the dark aura, the sniffing thing you do and now with Molly getting out of the morgue with bloodied hands and you then shouting about your fantasies about her. It would have sent the rumours mills running."

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something along the line of people being idiots but finally chose to shut up. Instead, he stayed still and listened for the sign of human presence beside them. They stayed like this a little time, John taking on the opportunity to collect himself from his previous anger. After a while, with nothing else human than a hollowed out corpse beside them, they relaxed. And then, broke into a laugh as relief washed over them and Sherlock saying "A vampire, seriously?".

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_I know that John should be berating Sherlock more about his attitude to Molly, but when did he really did? At least, now, we have Sherlock admitting to something, don't we? As for Sherlock as a vampire, I think we all imagined him as one, didn't we?_


	23. Chapter 23

_Hello all, sorry I've been late on this part of the story. It's very difficult to find the right timing for all that has to come down now (I'm struggling a bit on how to move along the plot without stalling too much on the emotional part). Anyway, I felt that Sherlock had been quite bad for the last two chapters so I thought that we needed to have something that shows that despite his outburst, he did grow a little in regards to Molly. Also it was fun to see the side of John's were he is there for his friend and not so much berating him than trying to help him with social interactions. _

_Also, for those who might have wondered about Sherlock's talk about blue-seamed stocking, it's actually a reference of another of my stories Bolthole Blues which is set during HLV (so kind of angsty even if it settled the grounds for this story)._

_I'll stop rambling now. Once again, I don't own anything (even though I'd very much so)._

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"Well, it took some time but at least we've found it! Ah! Don't you smell it in the air, John? The bright tantalizing scent of a new lead?" asked Sherlock while he hurried down the corridors of Barts and texting on his phone at the same time.

"Well, Sherlock. I know that right now the…" started John as he struggled to maintain the pace of his friend's strides while trying to get his coat on. Of course, Sherlock had not bothered to get out of his own coat, much probably because he had wanted to keep its projection of dark looming figure as protection against any sign that he might be human after all.

"Game is on!" cut in gleefully Sherlock.

"Yes that. However, I think maybe you should go and see to Molly first. And then, we can go to… wherever you want us to go." Finished John, gesturing at Sherlock's phone.

Sherlock stopped dead in his track and John had to use instinct-honed reflexes not to crash into him. Thank God for the army, he muttered silently into his head. Sherlock turned to him and the doctor was surprised to find some element of uncertainty in the eyes of the detective:

"Molly. Why should I go and see Molly?" he asked in a way that sounded absent-minded but was belied by the crease between his brows.

"Well, you did insult her earlier? This is more than a bit not good Sherlock." Slowly explained John, trying to see if a flicker of recognition would ignite in his friend's eyes. At the widening of those, John was suddenly struck by a revelation "Sherlock, did you delete that?" His voice was utterly disbelieving. How Sherlock had been able to delete an argument that had happened just a few moments ago was beyond his understanding.

Sherlock on his part had the grace to look a little ashamed of his behaviour and finally admitted:

"Yes, I might have deleted it." He grimaced slightly as if he was struggling with his next words. "Those kind of… _things_… not really my forte." He softly said.

By things, John new Sherlock meant feelings. He was at the same time utterly flabbergasted to see the depth of emotions that the man harboured for Molly Hooper, if the argument had such an effect on the man and at the same time, strangely happy to see that his best friend might have opened his heart a little. Even if his forays into normal feelings were not the most artful at times. But as John was busy digesting the new turn into his best friend, Sherlock suddenly frowned.

"Wait, you said I insulted her earlier. I didn't mention the discussion with the lover, did I?" he asked.

"Hmm, no. You just insulted her skills at pathology and urged her to consider a change of field." Explained matter-of-factly John. It then registered to him that Sherlock had not deleted his interactions with the lover. Interesting.

"Oh." Just said Sherlock. "Well, she must know I was clearly out of my mind. She's the best pathologist I know. To suggest anything else is just completely beyond reason." Stiffly said Sherlock, clearly ill-at-ease at the demonstration of how he had lost it. He sneaked a look at his blogger to confirm that indeed, Mollly Hooper knew better than to believe his hateful words and met with a stony look of "not good". He sighed and finally muttered "Fine, I'll go and apologize."

As Sherlock started towards the small room that Molly had pre-empted as her office, his phone beeped with another incoming text. He looked at it and turned back to the exit. His face that was embarrassed and apologetic was now set in a cold and hard mask. John, didn't need to ask to know that there was something wrong. Anyway, it seemed that Sherlock unusually needed to justify his next turn of action as he clarified:

"We'll have to do that later. I just received urgent news. It seems that the empty slaughterhouse is not as deserted as it should be." He said as he escalated his pace.

John found himself hurrying once more behind his friend, his mind focused on the case.

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_OK, now I'll try to get back to moving my plot along (I know what needs to happen, I just can't find the right words to put it in action) _


	24. Chapter 24

_Hello all. Sorry I'm a little behind on the update. I have to say I'm not very happy about this chapter, it feels something is missing but after some times I just accepted I won't be able to improve it just now. Hope you like it nonetheless._

_As usual I don't own anything._

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As Sherlock and John arrived on site, their first observation of the slaughterhouse was a bit unexpected. When one imagined a secluded slaughterhouse who staged as the kill site of a gruesome serial killer, one expected a bleak, threatening dark mass of a building. What one surely didn't expect was a bright, well-tended farm that could have easily been remodelled by hipsters in a desire to try for a more country-like lifestyle. And yet. Both men shared a determined look, knowing what a horrible sight was waiting for them. After all, the text had been clear. There was a dead body inside.

While John surveyed around in case anyone was coming, Sherlock opened the door to the house. They both slipped in silently, trying to mind their steps so as not to mess with the forensics. They flicked the light on and bright whiteness blinded them for an instant. The scene before them was truly horrific. The woman's body was slaughtered as a pig and the reality of it was even more slashing in the harsh light of the spots. Where the others had been cleaned off, this one was still entirely covered in blood. Sherlock's mind started spouting facts after facts. Hurried steps away from the body. The killer had been interrupted – most probably by one of the irregulars – and fled. So not too OCD as to keep on his dismemberment. Also, despite the plastic that had covered his shoes, he hadn't taken the time to disguise his footprints. Clearly, he'd been spooked – another sign of his relative novelty to killing. Yes, someone young definitely and he could deduce from the markings that he had been sporting sneakers. Now, with the plastic covers, he wouldn't be able to deduce the brand.

Sherlock looked at the corpse. John has got to it, maybe to see if there was still something to do for the woman but at his shaking head, Sherlock knew that the woman was dead. Might have been the better option too. He didn't know if one could really recover having one's chest opened up. He came to have a look at the body. The look of horror on the woman's face was unmistakable – and hadn't been cleared up by body rigidity yet. So he was right about them being alive for the opening of the chest bit. He looked at the insides. The heart was still there but one of its string had been cut, causing another haemorrhage. The killer must have been drenched in blood. Maybe he had left some clothes there to get changed? Or maybe he'd been covered in disposable paper suit. Yes, this was the most probable option. Easiest solution and most convenient. Sherlock bent down, trying to clear his nose from the smell of blood to try and catch if anything else was there. He had difficulty as the metallic odour was so powerful he could almost taste it on his tongue. There was also some acrid scent most probably from fear and sweat – even paralysed, there were some things that the body couldn't help. He surveyed once more the length of the body but had to admit defeat. Too much blood wasn't better than thoroughly bleached cleanliness. And he wasn't dumb enough to tamper with the body before forensics had been able to document everything they needed about it.

Finally he took a step back and went to John's side. They both took the scene in once more. Then Sherlock said:

"Phone Lestrade, tell him we have found the primary location of the murders. Tell him to get his best forensic team." Sherlock's voice was emotionless and John's face was set up in a hard mask. John called the DI. They went outside the house to wait up for reinforcement and for once, their friendly banter had dried up.

A few hours after, the police had wrapped up the crime scene but Sherlock and John had been kept close by, in case they were needed to clarify were they'd been. Not that it was really necessary. Sherlock had explained everything at length and John had retraced his steps more than once. But Lestrade was furious that they came into the slaughterhouse before the police even got there. He'd shouted abuse at them explaining thoroughly how their presence could tamper with evidence and lead to a mistrial. Their punishment had been to wait in the cold until the forensic team had collected all the evidence. Finally, Lestrade emerged from the building and cut straight to them.

"So, what can you tell us?" he asked, still pissed off.

John looked at Sherlock who looked somewhat lost in his thoughts. But the detective shook his head and his eyes focused on Lestrade:

"It's someone young. Probably a teenager or young adult. Look at whoever know this place well." Said Sherlock, for once keeping his answers to a minimum.

But Lestrade was having none of it and he looked at the dark haired man with more than irritation in his eyes:

"Sherlock, please don't feel the need to detail your deductions so much now. It's not like you've diverted my resources into fruitless avenues, nor almost contaminated the crime scene. If you think I'll take anything you say at face value…"

"The killer is easily frightened, as he fled the scene in the middle of it. He wore sneakers…"

"Yes, but grown men wear sneakers too." Countered Lestrade.

"Yes, but look around you. Small puddles of half-smoked cigarettes near that tree, bottles of cheap breezers mixed with stronger alcohols next to the walls. If there weren't so many police cars, I'm sure that we'd see some underage couples sneaking around to snog." Explained Sherlock as he gestured at the clues cluttered around. "As you can see, the place is a known among teenagers as a deserted place away from grown-ups. They surely would have noticed if a strange man had started sneaking around at odd times. Moreover, an adult wouldn't have known about the habits of the youngsters, so he would have been discovered much sooner."

"OK, so now, you tell me that we'll have to bring in half the teenage population that leaves around this place. Not really helpful Sherlock." Grumbled Lestrade.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course not! I said take in the teenagers that know the place well! Have you seen inside? It's neat and spotless, it means that the owners do come once in a while to make sure squatters haven't invaded the place. Also, the windows and doors are well secured and nothing suggest that there was an illicit way in. Most probably, the killer knew the owners a way or another and managed to duplicate the keys. Like this, he would have had the perfect place to commit the murders and well aware of the habits of both the other teenagers and the rightful owners, he would have known of the times when to do so." Finished Sherlock.

Lestrade noted the deductions on his black book. He then shot a withering look at both Sherlock and John and gestured to his officers to let them leave. The detective and his blogger left and as they made their way to John turned to Sherlock:

"Well that was led in a roundabout manner. Meaning that you'll have to show up to the baby shower tomorrow." Said John looking expectantly at his silent friend.

"Sorry what?" asked the detective but his face showed poor interest in the conversation.

"The baby shower, you know, for your goddaughter?" replied John. After all the involvement of the detective in his wedding's preparation, the blogger had expected the same regarding his daughter but the man with the Belstaff didn't look very much interested.

"For what I know, your infant has not yet been delivered, I don't see how to you can expect to give it a bath, least of all a shower." Replied absent-mindedly Sherlock.

"It's not… It's a party, for the baby… Where people we love come and celebrate with us the joy we feel at being parents…I thought that Molly told you about it." Tried to explain calmly John. Sherlock wasn't well versed in those sorts of things. And yet, it was somehow hurtful to see him so poorly interested in his future goddaughter.

"Ahhh… That. Yes, Molly told me about an event where we showered you and Mary with gifts for your future child. Well, it'd be more fitting to call it the tax on our future affection toward your offspring, in my opinion." Said Sherlock, shrugging slightly. At the sputtering coming from next to him, he also remembered the look Molly shot him when he'd said the same "Ah, yes… She told me also not to tell you or Mary that. Most of all, Mary." He shook his head at it. "Hmmm. I'll be glad to join you and celebrate the next generation of Watson's in the world?" he said as if remembering something told to him.

John was flabbergasted. Not only what Molly told Sherlock did seem to register in his mind – which was no small feat in itself. But it seemed that she was even able to actually maintain some levels of discussion that did not revolve around cases. And make him sort of apologise when he said something a bit not good. OK, then, thought John. And yet, he couldn't help feeling a twinge of jealousy of the influence of the pathologist on his friend. Strangely, whereas his priorities had slightly shifted and Sherlock took a less important place in his life, he hadn't even considered that the reverse might actually happen.

"Thank you Sherlock. I can't wait for the gift." He murmured sarcastically as his mind roved over the information and he tried to sort out his feelings.

"Don't worry, it's in the most capable hands." Replied truthfully Sherlock.


	25. Chapter 25

_Hello all, here is a new chapter that's going to focus on Molly and Mary (sorry for those who waited for the resolution of the murder, it'll come very soon however). I hope you'll like it._

_I want to thank the amazing Blood-Sucker-1428 who betaed the chapter for me and was very helpful. She also writes the best Mythea ever, called A first Time for Everything and if you hadn't had a look at it, you definitely should (she'll make you fall head over heels with Mycroft, be warned)._

_Of course, even if I wished it so, I don't own anything._

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Molly was still in Barts muttering to herself about stupid bloody detectives getting in the way, as she sorted her bag out of her locker. She then began to dress in her coat, scarf and mittens turning her thoughts as to whether or not take her paperwork back home with her. But if she did, Mike would have her head for not respecting his orders of a sick leave. As soon as he had seen the blood dripping from her hand when she was making her way to the faucet to rinse it, he had decided to send her back home citing a serious work-related injury as the reason. She looked at her fingers. She really hadn't needed stitches but Mike had been adamant about her hand to be looked at and the intern had been so happy to be able to practice that she hadn't had the heart to tell him no. So, here she was, in front of her locker, getting ready for an unexpected afternoon home when her phone rang. She took the call, still in the process of pushing her arm through the coat when she heard the miserable voice of Mary on the line. Her best friend told her in a faint voice that she'd been sent to the hospital as she had started having heavy contractions. Mary was only seven months and three weeks along. Consequently, while not obligatory resulting in a miscarriage, delivering this early wouldn't be good for the baby. Molly felt her arms drop with dread but she swiftly pushed the emotion aside and promised to come to Mary's side right this instant. Still trying to reassure an overwhelmed Mary, she hurried in her preparations and yelped when her hurt fingers snagged into her coat's sleeve.

"Are you OK, Molly?" asked instantly Mary, her voice a little bit firmer as she focused on her friend and found herself distracted from her worry for a short time.

"Don't worry, just a cut across my left fingers. Nothing bloody life-threatening" swore Molly, grimacing against the pain. "I'll just be there in a minute. What is the address of the clinic, again?" asked Molly, all focus on the task ahead.

"Well, actually, I'm at Barts. The clinic is nice but not as good in case of emergencies as Barts. So, I used Sherlock's and John's good name to get admitted." Admitted Mary, not the slightest sorry for her name dropping.

Molly smiled at the blond woman's cunning. The fact was, as much as Sherlock might be perceived as a nuisance by Barts' staff, his celebrity had put a spotlight on Barts as he was a regular visitor, hence attracting more donations from fans. John, Mary and Molly – Sherlock probably as well, but the invitation had probably been shucked off underneath an experiment or directly thrown into the bin – had even all been invited to come to Barts' grand ball that was held every year for wealthy donators.

"In that case, I'll be there even sooner. What's the room?" said Molly as she took the stairs to go to the obstetrics wing of the hospital.

When she arrived in Mary's room, her friend was already attached to all sort of equipment. The beeps and whistles of the medical machinery were loud but steady and it reassured Molly a little. From Mary's relieved face, it was the same for her. Nonetheless, the two women knew that Mary would have to stay under surveillance for the next few hours, in case the contractions started speeding up again. Molly made her way to the bed and squeezed Mary's hand. Mary smiled at the pathologist, happy to have a friend at her side, her husband's phone going directly to voice mail whenever she phoned.

"So where is John? Considering all the coddling the past few weeks I can't imagine what's more urgent about dead girls than you." Asked promptly Molly. She winced soon after at her tactless manner. "Sorry, not what I wanted to say. I'm in a bit of a mood." She apologised as she divested herself from her coat and scarf.

"Never mind, you just read my thoughts actually. His phone's going to voice mail and I just swear I'm…" started Mary in what sounded like the beginning of a furious rant. "Oh goodness, what happened to your fingers? When you said cut, I thought you meant a paper cut. That looks…" Mary cut as she took a look at Molly's fingers bandaged in white gauze.

"Don't worry, it looks worse than it is. I cut my fingers during a PM. At least, the bright side of dealing with dead people, is that the risks for transmitted diseases are practically non-existent." Molly shrugged fatalistically, trying to dismiss the entire matter.

"You cut yourself during a PM? You? Little Miss Perfect?" asked Mary as she raised a brow.

"Can't we just drop the thing entirely? It's not important. So, what happened for you to have contractions?" asked Molly, not really in the mood to discuss the detective.

"Nothing particularly. I was just standing and it started. At first, I just thought it was nothing. But then they got stronger and… I panicked I guess." Said Mary, a little bashful. But Molly patted her arm reassuringly.

"Mary, everybody in your state would be panicky. If it was me, I'd go directly in full hysteric mode, you know." Said Molly, biting her tongue not to add the words: _especially if my husband wasn't there but traipsing with his best friend after a serial killer_.

"You know with my training as a nurse and all that…" Mary had never quite explained her past to Molly, but she knew her friend had somehow put some of the pieces together. Mary knew from some of the pathologist's remarks – especially a proposition to go and practice at a shooting range in late November - that Molly had figured out that her dangerous past even if she didn't know the details. Nonetheless, the young woman had accepted Mary entirely, neither ignoring the dark things, nor focusing on it. "I just thought that I'll be calmer, more prepared, you know." Finished Mary with a watery smile.

Molly didn't reply anything but just patted Mary's arm, letting her know she was there for her. After a few moments, Mary regained control of her emotions that had been wracking havoc in her mind. She took a deep breath and turned to Molly who had perched on the side of the bed.

"Molly, is that the skinny jeans we bought together two months ago?" she asked as she eyed the tight dark denim garment.

Molly blushed a little and said:

"Hmm… Yes. I'm kind of behind schedule for doing laundry and I didn't have time this morning, so I just grabbed the first thing under my hands." She said a little self-conscious. Molly, for all her intellect and knowledge of bodies, knew she had the fashion sense of a six year old. And yet, whenever she tried to dress more accordingly to her status, she felt like she was playing dress up. She fidgeted under her friend's stare but Mary grabbed her hand:

"No, no, it looks great Molly! Goodness, it's just that I never saw the shape of your legs before." said Mary, smiling.

"So, you don't think I look ridiculous? I mean… I'm not sure it's even appropriate for work." She said trying to cover up her first admission at insecurity. She'd promised herself that she wouldn't let self-doubt overwhelm her again since her break-up with Tom.

"Molly, skinny jeans are considered a basic since Kate Moss started wearing them more than a decade ago. They're perfectly fine for work. Moreover, who's going to complain? Mr Smith who died in an act of erotic self-asphyxiation?" joked Mary.

At that, Molly giggled and she relaxed eventually.

"Actually, I have to admit it's quite comfortable, not as stiff as my usual khakis and warmer too." She admitted, lowering her lashes a bit.

"Dear Lord, Molly Hooper has disavowed her darling khakis! What's next? Shudder, you little floral blouses! Tremble, you garish sweaters! The end is near!" teased Mary.

"Oh… Are all my clothes really that dreadful?" asked Molly, insecurity rearing back its head. Mary took an appraising look at her friend. Molly tried not to fidget again as she knew that the mark of a true friend was also to let know when something was wrong. But Mary, met her with a smile on her mouth.

"Actually, with the jeans it looks good. While your conservative khakis made you look like you were still being dressed by the crazy, overbearing mother from Carrie – it just did, Molly, honestly. The skinny jeans are actually making you more stylish in a hipster kind of way." Said Mary, truthfully.

"Oh. Okay, then." Said Molly, a little surprised. She'd winced at first at the description of her former style, but she finally decided that a new hipster look wouldn't be too bad. Actually, it would definitely be much better than Carrie from the Stephen King book.

Mary suddenly gasped as another cramp gripped her and the machines noises went mad for a moment. But soon, it stopped and Molly found herself releasing the tight grip she'd had on the bedding. Mary frowned and sighed and looked at her belly:

"Stop misbehaving, little one!" Tilting her face up to Molly, she added with a slight look of annoyance on her face "Just impatient this one. I swear Sherlock's voodooing her somehow. You'll see she'll come out with dark curls and a Belstaff too!"

"Well, that would definitely make people talk!" replied dryly Molly.

The two of them shared a laugh at that, both imagining the look on John's face at rumours of ménage in the tabloids. The man, for all his adventures during his army years, was quite the monogamous and straight type. Almost conservative some might say. Not that he was homophobic in the least, but he'd always been touchy about people misinterpreting his relationship with Sherlock. They were interrupted by the obstetric who came back to check on Mary. After a discussion and the doctor forbidding Mary to lift excess weight or moving at all really, they were left alone with the assurance that Mary should be able to get out on the day after if everything was alright.

"Oh that's a bother. How am I going to have everything ready for tomorrow's party if I have to stay overnight? No, that's the worst time ever!" sighed Mary as she flopped against her pillow.

"You're kidding, right? You're not going to have the baby shower tomorrow, we're going to call everyone and tell them it's cancelled." Admonished Molly.

"But everyone was going to be there! And there were going to be presents and cake and…" started Mary.

"Well, we'll reschedule it for next week. You'll have time to get rest and I'll come to help with everything. Now, I really think that after the drama at your wedding, your loved ones could do without having you giving birth to your little girl on your sofa during the party." Teased dryly Molly.

"Are you criticising my wedding? Mrs. Almost Meat Dagger?" replied Mary shooting her friend a narrowed look. But Molly's reaction was a pointed look and Mary had to resign to sulking over the loss of her party.


	26. Chapter 26

_Hello all, I wanted to update sooner but with the problems on ff, I couldn't. This is the follow up of the previous chapter between Mary and Molly. It was originally only one chapter but was quite long so I had to cut it in half. I hope you'll like it as for once we see a little more about what Molly is thinking._

_Again, I don't own anything_

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"You're evil, Molly Hooper." Said Mary with a narrowed look at the awful smelling juice that her friend had brought her. She eyed accusingly the delicious smelling cappuccino cup, but Molly smirked and gestured to her to drink the healthy beverage up. "But I guess I can always pay you back by vomiting the contents on your favourite scarf." She muttered.

"I'm so glad you're here, you know." She said with a tight smile, a few minutes after having drank the nasty juice. "Anyway, now that you've ruined my evening of fun tomorrow, forced me to drink horrible things, the least you could do is tell me about your sexy American." Mary said with a twinkle in her eyes.

Molly easy smile froze and Mary eyes went focused and serious.

"Molly, tell me what's wrong? Has something happened? If he's not treating you right, you have to tell me." Said Mary worriedly.

"No, not at all. It's great. Nick's great. He's charming and so bloody intelligent. The medical cases he's shared with me, it's so interesting." Molly said, defending her lover.

Mary frowned at her friend. Molly wasn't lying. When she was talking about the medical cases and Nick, there was some deep admiration seeping into her words that clashed with the dreading look that had been etched on her face a few moments ago.

"So, what is it? Are you falling in love with him? Are you afraid of him leaving?" she asked, quite cautious about the emotions in her friend. She had always thought that Molly's true love was Sherlock, but maybe she was wrong and maybe there was someone else for her.

Molly worried her lip with her teeth, her brows furrowed as she tried to mull this over. Was she in love with Nick? He was brilliant, fun, a very good shag. He was also sarcastic, rude and a bit crude at times. But that didn't bother her. Could she fall for someone in so little time? She tried to think it through, imagining what she'd feel at his departure or if she was to go with him. What she knew was she didn't feel sorrow and just thinking of having him in her life was… She couldn't find the words. She just knew she was terrified.

"No, I don't think I love him." She finally admitted.

"So what is it? It's the first time I've see you like this, that's all." Clarified Mary, trying to help her.

"It's just like every time we're near and he looks at me a certain way, I feel like my breath is caught on something and I have to fight against a flight reaction." Explained Molly, her eyes skittering to the window.

"Is there any reason why you feel uncomfortable? Do you think he might be a sociopath?" Mary didn't like to think about that, but it was true that Molly Hooper seemed to inspire antis-social men in a romantic sense.

"No… Well, not like that. He's not the most emphatic man, I agree, but he's not a psychopath. It's not that. It's much more like he's waiting for me to make up my mind but I don't see about what."

Mary's mind started piecing together the information that she'd learned from her friend and also from her husband through the previous weeks. She didn't discount Molly's reactions as wishful thinking. Her friend might not be the greatest decipher of human nature – in that regard she was almost as ignorant as Sherlock – but she was quite sensitive about hidden emotional tension. With that in mind, she searched for the cues that would explain Molly's fears. And then it hit her. Molly said it herself, she felt like she had to make her mind. Something that intrigued her enough to tempt her since it wasn't in a romantic sense. The medical cases that were so intriguing, the experiments. Nick was a renowned diagnostician with a team at his disposal in Boston. If he was asking Molly about his cases, it might be because he wanted her there.

"Molly, did you ever think that he actually might ask you to come work with him?" she suggested softly.

At the words, Molly's eyes widened like saucers and she almost took a step back. At the reaction, Mary knew she'd hit the spot.

"No, it's not possible. I-I'm a pathologist, not a regular doctor." She tried. But then, she faltered and almost crumbled on the bed. She knew that Mary was right. "Oh my god. It makes so much sense now. The diagnostics, having me talking with his team, even his whining about his boss forcing him to interview new doctors for his team." She said defeated. She sighed and then lifted her head to Mary and asked: "What's wrong with me? I have a brilliant and gorgeous man interested in me and he might propose one of the most interesting job in my life to me. And I just feel like I'm cornered into a trap. What is so fucked up in me that I just can't recognise what's good for me?" she now asked with tears in her eyes.

"Oh, Molly, my dear, I'm so sorry. You know there is no right or wrong in feelings. If you don't feel like it, you can't force yourself." Tried to reassure Mary. But they both knew what the heart of the problem was. An arse of a detective that Molly fell for years ago. "And I'm just not OK with you going to leave the other side of the Atlantic, so I hope, young lady that you'll quit entertaining the thought immediately." She teased trying to get a smile out of Molly and succeeding.

The two women were hugging and trying to comfort each other when John finally arrived in the room. Not bothering much with greeting, he barged in and immediately started apologising:

"Oy. Mary, I came as soon as I got my phone back. Lestrade had confiscated them and I didn't get your message until the crime scene was entirely processed… Is everything alright?"

"Well, yeah. I almost decided to divorce you, and planned to settle into a lesbian relationship with Molly to raise your child." Replied Mary, a little irritated at her husband.

"Sorry… What?" asked John, a little bewildered at the turn in conversation.

"Nothing John. Don't worry, she's teasing you!" interrupted Molly. She smiled fondly at her best friend and started to garner her things to leave the married couple alone. "Mary, I'll send everyone an email to let them know the baby shower is postponed to next week." She then turned to John "As for you, try and remember that you shouldn't let Sherlock embroil you in his shenanigans like this or you might very well miss your daughter's birth. In which case, I'll consider the romantic offer of Mary to marry her and raise your kid as my own." She winked as she said the last and John returned a smile of his own as he bade her goodbye and she left.

John turned to his wife then and hugged her tightly, trying to reassure himself that everything was alright. The fact was, he'd been utterly panicked when he'd seen the missed call and the texts telling him his wife was in hospital. After a few more soothing moments in each other's embrace, they disengaged and started to discuss. John replaying everything of the day, from the case to the more interesting showdown between the detective and the diagnostician as well as the resulting admission of Sherlock as having feelings for Molly. Mary listened intently at this, not knowing whether the new development would either complicate or simplify thing. So, as it did a lot the past weeks, Molly and John started discussing about their child and its needs. The child in question being an adult detective and just not the little girl inside Mary's womb.


	27. Chapter 27

Hello all, sorry for the wait, I'm currently under a pile of work and it takes a long time to write. Normally I try to write a little ahead but now I don't really have time so I'll publish anyway. We're back to the case (this and next chapter will wrap it up). In this chapter, Donovan feature prominently, I hope you'll like her and she's not too OOC.

Thanks a lot to my great beta Blood-sucker 1428.

Of course, I don't own any of this.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSSH

As Sherlock was sitting in a chair in Lestrade's office reviewing the different suspects in his head, the DI was currently chewing off one of his officers that had let slip to the press that teenagers were being interrogated by the police on the gruesome murders of the Lover serial killer. At some point, the noise was such that Sherlock was taken out of his mind palace:

"And you glib to pretty girls about the job so as to get your little piece of fun? That's your officer of the law integrity?" Lestrade was shouting at a gangly man in front of him.

The man was looking at the floor and had turned red in embarrassment at the fact that his colleagues were probably hearing the whole thing. Otherwise, he didn't seem very apologetic to Sherlock.

"Actually, it is a piece of fun and some very pretty 50£ bills." Sherlock said.

When both police officers turn to him, he shrugged and opened the mouth to explain how he deduced it:

"Actually, I don't want to hear it." Said the silver-haired man. He then turned to his team member and ordered "You! You'll be on administrative leave as of now. Go to HR and see with them that I don't see you within a week. Without pay, of course"

The policeman then scurried out of Lestrade's office under the heavy glares of the entire team and Sherlock couldn't help but admire his friend's skill at handling the man. It seemed that despite his shortcomings in terms of actually really observing a crime scene, the man had managed to lead a tight-knit team that worked well together and showed both loyalty and integrity on the job. However, his mind soon turned toward the subject at hand. The teenagers. Yes, one of them was their murderer, he was sure of it. Yet, it seemed that each and every one of them had some alibi for the time of the murders, which most conveniently took place at some time or another during a party between some or all of the group. And it would take time to check all of them before the end of their time in custody. And after that, the killer would only have more time to build up his story and persuade the others that he'd been with them at the crucial moment and it would be impossible to get to the truth. No, they needed something to quick-start the investigation and prevent their little eel from getting away with it. Some part of him admired the cleverness of the scheme, its simplicity the crux of it. While at first he had loved serial killers he'd found after some time that they weren't very smart and the only thing driving them was their unnatural fetishes. After a few cases, they all felt the same for him, eventually. Except the cabbie, of course, and now, this one. Right now, his mind was soaring, trying to find a way to confound the killer. Data, he needed more data.

Lestrade looked at him, cleared his throat and said: "Want to have a look at the boys again, Sherlock?"

Sherlock realised that he was standing up pacing. He must have said the last words aloud given the strange look that Lestrade was giving him:

"No, Gavin, I don't have the time for playing around." He said as he searched for a solution in his mind. However, lately, he'd been fighting against some unresolved feelings and it clouded his mind, preventing him from keeping everything ordered neatly in his brain.

At the officer's look, he explained:

"They all have the same story and our boy is too clever not too know exactly how to blend in the herd. Most of all, he seems to have been able to gather a group of friends while still clearly a psychopath. That means he knows how to fake emotions well enough so that nosy and obsessed by the others' opinion teenagers did not see that they harboured a mad man in their midst. No, their interviews will reveal nothing at all. We need hard evidence." The words were pouring out of Sherlock's mouth with a frenzy.

A knock sounded on the door and as the two men turned, Donovan entered the room.

"Sir, the press is here and they want to know more. They can't stop going on and on about the Lover thing." Said Donovan begrudgingly.

"How do they even get those kind of names? It's utterly ridiculous." Spat Lestrade, visibly not pleased at all at having to go and hold a press conference.

"Don't know, just sprung on the Internet. Some bad joke at him being quite the lover, the way he burned through hearts." She shrugged and at Lestrade's questioning look, she replied "I'm the one leading the team that is going through the Internet chats about the case, remember? So, that we can trace anyone who's gloating about being the killer?"

Sherlock had to admit that this was quite a good idea or would have been if the murderer was just another serial killer with a thirst for media attention. As the aggravated DI sighed and made his way to the conference room, Sherlock remained in the office and paced around. Sally sat on the edge of the desk, looked at him and finally seemed to remember something:

"Molly told me to give you this." She clipped, and as the detective met her eyes, he saw a very disapproving look in hers. Oh, Molly must have told her, he thought, his stomach churning at the idea.

Nonetheless, Sherlock took the file he was handed. He opened it and started to peruse the content and had to stifle an annoyed groan at the poor attempt at style and flourish. He looked at the signature.

"It's Robertson who's made the analysis, you know. You might as well get used to it." Sally cut in.

"Why should I get used to it? Robertson is quite afraid of me and happy to stay out of my way and Molly is the best. I don't see any reason why I'd stop working with her." He said, trying to sound confident and bored by her insinuations but he could feel something akin to acid build in his stomach.

"Well, she might consider a career change." Said pointedly Sally. Sherlock had to stop himself from freezing and kept his eyes firmly on the file. As ever, Donovan's remarks cut deep into him. This time it was worse because she didn't call him a freak or insult him. She just put his awful words back in his face. "Especially, if it comes in the form of an offer from a hotshot American doctor." She kept on, twisting the blade in. At that Sherlock's eyes rose from the files and zeroed on Sally.

"What did you say?" he asked softly. Sally felt the air freeze in her lungs. So, this was what being the recipient of Sherlock's whole attention. It wasn't a good feeling. His eyes were razor sharp on her and she could almost feel his stare dissecting everything that was going on in her head. She took a deep breath and went on.

"The doctor. I know he wants her to come and work with him." She said, trying to keep her voice from trembling by stating her answer in clipped, brief sentences.

"She's a pathologist. His patients are alive, not dead. He doesn't need her." Said Sherlock, trying to get at this rationally. And yet, he remembered the infuriating way the man had said 'my pathologist', the way he'd asked Molly for diagnosis and he himself, trying to replicate a false positive. He looked at Sally, trying to deduce whether this was just another rumour or bad extrapolation or if there was some truth attached to it.

Sally shrugged, trying to hide her discomfort. "I heard him, he was discussing it on the phone with his boss back in America." She curled her nose in distaste as she remembered the conversation.

"What did he say?" Sherlock's voice was barely above a whisper, a sense of dread coursing in his veins the like he hadn't felt since Magnussen's laugh at Appledore.

"He said 'You test-drive a car before you buy it, you have sex with a girl before you marry her. I can't hire Molly based on you wanting someone else in the team. I need more time. Not sure yet about her diagnosing skills. Though, I do like having sex with her.'" Once again, she didn't seem very pleased by the G.P.'s words.

"Hardly a frank and shining endorsement." Said Sherlock, pretty shaken even if he was doing his best not to show it.

"No, you don't understand. It's not just his words. It's what he did at the end of the call. He smiled. As if he had one up on his boss. I know those smiles, it means that he had already made a decision but he was enjoying jerking his boss' chain. And from what Molly told me, he has included her more and more in his job. He's going to offer her to come with him. I'm sure of it." She said the last words with a finality that could only been brought by genuine belief in one's words.

And then, as Sherlock entire being froze in a posture that she knew John called the buffering pose, Sally felt her heart ache for the detective for the first time in all the years she'd known him. Moreover, since she saw something akin to anguish delicately etch itself on the features of the arrogant man. Sherlock was processing what the departure of Molly Hooper meant, and the effect of it was devastating. Then, after a few more seconds during which Sally hovered not knowing whether to comfort him or not, Sherlock just shook off the entire thing. He then went back to the file as if nothing had happened. Yet, Sally, could see a slight tremor in his right little finger. She didn't say anything, knowing that at the moment, Sherlock Holmes was doing whatever he needed doing to deal with the loss of his maybe-more than a friend. And also for the first time on her life, she decided to give him a helpful hand:

"Anything interesting in the report?" she said, hoping that her voice conveyed a business-as-usual stance.

The detective, who had resumed his pacing suddenly stooped once again and said: "Actually, there is."

He then flew out of the office without sparing even a single look in Donovan's direction. And as she stood up, she muttered to herself "And that's what I get for my generosity. What a git."

As Sherlock furious strides resonated on the floors, heads turned toward him but he paid them no attention at all. He took a turn and then irrupted into the conference room. As soon as Lestrade saw him, he stood up:

"Anything new?" said the DI without noticing the cameras flashing on and on, alternating between the two men.

"You're going to love this." Said Sherlock cheerfully and exited the room.

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If you caught it, the quote from Case is from House MD (a show that I loved and which main character served as a model for Case, even if Case is way younger than House, since he studied at Hopkins with Molly). I just tweaked it a little so I could have it applied to Molly. Hope you like it.


	28. Chapter 28

_Hello all. Sorry for the delay in the story. I've been overloaded with work until now and my creativity has shrank to a little rivulet that didn't allow me to update the story much. Normally, I try to have some chapters planned ahead but I'm stuck and I've decided to publish the chapters that I've written in the meantime (that and my bronchitis is telling me that I should update before I die... Don't listen to me, I'm overly dramatic when I'm sick)._

_So just for everyone to remember: Sherlock is close to solving the case. The serial killer suspect is in custody but is to be found among a band of teenagers. Sally has revealed to Sherlock that Molly might leave Barts and relocate to America with the lover. Sherlock is quite stricken by it but he has a case to solve, so he has to focus. _

_Hope you enjoy it..._

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"That's it?" asked Lestrade, utter disbelief painting itself on his face.

Sherlock was in one of his manic frenzies, one of which the two police officers had not seen him in but had already heard John talk about. Sally and Greg shared a look. Did that mean they were in Sherlock's inner circle now? Greg shook his head and asked again, trying to be clear as he looked intently at the detective:

"Sweets? So what, all teenagers eat sweets. There no breaking news in that! How do you think it will help us single out the killer?"

"Ahhh, once again, you don't look further than the tip of your nose! Yes, teenagers eat sweets. But how many teenagers do you know will eat sweets while mutilating a woman?" Said Sherlock. At the two police officers pointed looks, he let out an exasperated sigh. "Yes, I know he's a psychopath. But opening up a chest actually requires skills and concentration. Something you don't normally go about while chewing absent-mindedly on something. Especially, if you're chewing again on the same thing after you've cleaned up the mess you made. Unless you're obsessive in your chewing. And people that obsessed must certainly have a flavour of choice. So now, if we can pinpoint what exactly is the sweets, we'll find out the killer." He explained, the words shooting out his mouth like bullets.

At the stunned look of the two detectives, Sherlock shook his head. Ah, if only John had been there, the deduction was brilliant and there was nobody to properly appreciate it. At the absence of movements from the officers, he however felt a growing irritation:

"Now, just go and call Molly so she goes and determines the flavour of the sweet." He said, trying to have them move.

"Actually, it can't be Molly, it would have to be Robertson." Said Sally.

At the words, Sherlock stilled and Sally was a little wary about what might come out of his mouth. However, before Sherlock had time to say anything, Greg cut in:

"Sherlock, don't you remember? Molly took a day off. She's helping Mary preparing the baby shower? The one we're going to once everything is wrapped up?"

At that, Sherlock seemed to settle somewhat but still replied a little stiffly as if being caught doing something naughty:

"Oh yes, of course. And John is with them." This at least, accounted for the absence of his blogger. He definitely had to remind himself to stop deleting that kind of information so he wouldn't look like an idiot. "Well, I guess Robertson will have to do, then." he finally managed.

The three of them waited as the analysis was being urged down at Barts. The publicity of the case had certainly played in their favour as well as the ticking clock on the custody of the boys suspected to be the killer. As Lestrade sipped on his coffee, trying to catch up on paper work and getting reports from the men doing the interrogation and Sally, popping in and out to run errands or doing whatever a DS did, Sherlock sat still, lost in his mind palace, trying to focus on the little thing that bothered him about the case. Not that he had any doubt about one of the teenagers being the serial murderer, nor the way to foil him. But there was a little thing that was niggling at the back on his mind and he couldn't quite put his finger on it. While waiting, he felt like smoking a cigarette but he'd gone cold turkey and he hadn't any patches at hand. He was starting to feel fidgety and he hated that. A wiser part of his mind, which sounded strangely like his father, knew that his nervousness wasn't just caused by having to wait for additional proof before having his breakthrough. He already had to wait before and didn't feel that wait clawing at him like it did now. No, it was to do with what Donovan had told him earlier. As the realisation hit, he forced himself to disregard it immediately. He didn't have time for that, to think about his pathologist actually leaving for another. No. He needed to focus on the case. And how he could speed the whole process up.

Greg, bored out of his mind, got up and looked at Sherlock. The detective didn't look different from usual but he'd seen the way Sally had looked at him. As if she was worried about something. It wasn't about the case or she would have told him, nor was it the usual exasperation at this arrogance. No it was something between the two of them and never would he have ever imagined that a "between the two of them" would exist one day between Donovan and Sherlock. He sighed as he patted his pockets, the urge for a cigarette becoming unrelenting. He looked once more at Sherlock, knowing it was wrong for him to propose but doing it anyway:

"Sherlock, want to come and smoke a cigarette?" he said.

Sherlock looked over at the DI, surprise etched on his face. Clearly, he wasn't used at being offered to smoke a cigarette. Greg could obviously see why. His close friends were non-smoker doctors, not really that into addicting, cancer-inducing habits. As for the other people, well, Sherlock surely knew how to discourage any friendly gesture that was a given. Anyway, instead of brushing the gesture off as Lestrade half expected him to, the detective quickly got up and started for the door. However, Greg gestured to the window at the back of his office.

"We'll sneak one right there, better than going all the way down." Said the DI.

Sherlock smiled at that and quickly approached. The two men took a cigarette from Lestrade's pack and lit them. They both groaned slightly as the first rush of nicotine coursed in their veins.

"Bloody hell, 've been waiting all day long for one. I tried to stop but got right back at it. I just can't help it. Guess now I know why they say it's addictive." chatted idly the DI as he took another long drag out of his cigarette.

Sherlock was smoking silently beside him, relishing each puff of smoke as they made their way in his lungs. Yes, he could see Lestrade's point. He couldn't remember the number of times he had tried to stop. But, yes it was addictive. Worse than heroine. Unbidden, came a memory of a discussion with Molly. He had said those exact words and she had twinkled her nose in disagreement. When asked about it, she had shrugged and just said: "it's not just the products, it also goes with a personality. Addiction is half the result of actual physical addiction and half of an obsessive-compulsive personality. That's why people get addicted to food, for example." As he was smiling fondly at the memory, it finally hit him. His breath caught in his throat and he started coughing.

"Are you alright mate?" asked Lestrade, a little bit worried.

"Yes, yes. I know how we're going to trick him! Of course, I should have thought of it sooner. Mycroft's right, I might be slipping a little bit." Said Sherlock as he went to the doors and bellowed for Donovan.

"What Sherlock? You don't make any sense." Said Lestrade as he put out his cigarette and went to his desk.

"Donovan, good. We need sweets. The boy has an obsessive personality. He will just dive at them if given the chance. The others will be too stressed out to eat them, but the killer, he just won't be able to keep himself from them." Explained rapidly the detective.

"It's actually a pretty good idea." Said Donovan.

"Wait, wait, the two of you." Interrupted Lestrade. "Sweets? What king of sweets. It's not like we can and just by random stuff just to see if one reacts at them. You said it yourself Sherlock, he's specific in his taste."

Sherlock stilled at that and he started mumbling behind his breath. The two officers looked at him until the detective intimated them to just let him think through it. After a few more seconds, Sherlock finally said:

"Has to be hard candy, he wouldn't be able to focus on the killing if he had to pop sweets in his mouth every five seconds. Also large enough not to melt right away, or he'd face the same problem. Also, there is the problem with the sweet being dribbling down on his fingers. That's why he left some of it on the body after he cleaned it. Also, we know there was some DNA, just nothing usable because of the bleach. So, dribbling sweet, DNA, saliva – of course." An image popped in his mind then of his pathologist sucking on a lollipop while doing some paperwork, complaining when the sticky residue strayed to mark a page. "Lollipops. That's what we need to catch him." He finally said to Donovan and Lestrade.

"OK, Donovan, you go and buy those big pots with several flavours of lollipops in them." Commanded Greg quoting a famous brand of sweets and explaining the details. The man was evidently drawing on his experience of living with two teenage kids at home.

Sherlock refrained from saying anything, just waiting for the lollipops to be purchased and introduced in the interrogation rooms. Screens had been set up in Lestrade's Office and a live-feed allowed them to see what happened simultaneously inside the interrogation rooms. On the monitors, the policemen interrogating the suspects, helped themselves to the lollipops but at first, none of the boys tried and grabbed one of the sweets. Yet, after a few stolen glance, one of them, an angelic looking youth, finally reached toward the pot in front of him. After a shy look – faked so as to support his innocent-looking appearance, he looked at the pot and rummaged through it to get to his flavour of choice. Sherlock's eyes narrowed on the display and he stated:

"It's him. Here. See? He didn't take the first lollipop he could reach as a hungry teenager would have. No, he carefully selected the one which he wanted. This is our murderer. Now, it's only a matter of matching the aroma of this particular lollipop to the residue found on our second victim."

Lestrade and Donovan quickly nodded. They released a silent sigh at knowing that the case was finally solved. As it was, Sherlock went to the coat rack to the door and angled his head at Lestrade:

"Well, I'll leave you to it, I have a party to attend." Said Sherlock, with a seriousness that seemed at odds with the words leaving his mouth. The man then left, his coat billowing around him.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHS

_So did you like it?_


End file.
